Romanized: The Lost Hero
by DoubleDimension
Summary: A rewrite of the Heroes of Olympus, with Annabeth as a Roman, and Piper raised in CHB. The original plot belongs to Mr. Riordan. Jason, Annabeth and Leo have to save Juno/Hera, from the giants, and the beginning of the Prophecy of Seven/Second Great Prophecy.
1. JASON: I

EVEN BEFORE HE GOT ELECTROCUTED, Jason was having a rotten day.

He woke in the backseat of a school bus, not sure where he was, a girl was sitting next to him, that wasn't the rotten part, it was the fact that she was just as confused as he was.

A few dozen kids sprawled in the seats in front of him, listening to iPods, talking, or sleeping. They all looked around his age … fifteen? Sixteen? Okay, that was scary. He didn't know his own age.

The bus rumbled along a bumpy road. Out the windows, desert rolled by under a bright blue sky. Jason was pretty sure he didn't live in the desert. He tried to think back … the last thing he remembered …

The girl, in confusion, asked. "Where is this place, why am I here?"

She wore the same purple tee shirt as him, just with a more feminine cutting, and her hair, a platinum shade, her skin just the same shade as him, her eyes, a steely, icy gray, with a very serious look, but now they were only filled with confusion. Her accent was the most prominent, European, very European. And a gleaming, silver metal chain watch was buckled at her left wrist, a diver's watch to be exact.

Jason stammered, "Um, I don't—"

In the front of the bus, a teacher shouted, "All right, cupcakes, listen up!"

The guy was obviously a coach. His baseball cap was pulled low over his hair, so you could just see his beady eyes. He had a wispy goatee and a sour face, like he'd eaten something moldy. His buff arms and chest pushed against a bright orange polo shirt. His nylon workout pants and Nikes were spotless white. A whistle hung from his neck, and a megaphone was clipped to his belt. He would've looked pretty scary if he hadn't been five feet zero. When he stood up in the aisle, one of the students called, "Stand up, Coach Hedge!"

"I heard that!" The coach scanned the bus for the offender. Then his eyes fixed on Jason and the girl, and his scowl deepened.

A jolt went down Jason's spine. He was sure the coach knew he didn't belong there. He was going to call Jason out, demand to know what he was doing on the bus—and Jason wouldn't have a clue what to say.

But Coach Hedge looked away and cleared his throat. "We'll arrive in five minutes! Stay with your partner. Don't lose your worksheet. And if any of you precious little cupcakes causes any trouble on this trip, I will personally send you back to campus the hard way."

He picked up a baseball bat and made like he was hitting a homer.

Jason looked at the girl next to him. "Can he talk to us that way?"

She shook her head, "I don't know."

She said it like this whole thing was not only alien to him, but also to her.

"This is some kind of mistake," Jason said. "I'm not supposed to be here."

The boy in front of him turned and laughed. "Yeah, right, Jason. We've all been framed! I didn't run away six times."

"You, what! Ran away six times?"

"Uh, yeah, didn't I tell you that a while ago?"

Leo looked like a Latino Santa's elf, with curly black hair, pointy ears, a cheerful, babyish face, and a mischievous smile that told you right away this guy should not be trusted around matches or sharp objects. His long, nimble fingers wouldn't stop moving—drumming on the seat, sweeping his hair behind his ears, fiddling with the buttons of his army fatigue jacket. Either the kid was naturally hyper or he was hopped up on enough sugar and caffeine to give a heart attack to a water buffalo.

"Anyway," Leo said, "I hope you've got your worksheet, 'cause I used mine for spit wads days ago. Why are you looking at me like that? Somebody draw on my face again?"

"I don't know you," Jason said, along with the girl, who had introduced herself as Annabeth.

Leo gave him a crocodile grin. "Sure. I'm not your best friend. I'm his evil clone."

"Leo Valdez!" Coach Hedge yelled from the front. "Problem back there?"

Leo winked at Jason. "Watch this." He turned to the front. "Sorry, Coach! I was having trouble hearing you. Could you use your megaphone, please?"

Coach Hedge grunted like he was pleased to have an excuse. He unclipped the megaphone from his belt and continued giving directions, but his voice came out like Darth Vader's. The kids cracked up. The coach tried again, but this time the megaphone blared: "The cow says moo!"

The kids howled, and the coach slammed down the megaphone. "Valdez!"

Jason and Annabeth smirked, "Awesome, how did you do that?"

Leo slipped a tiny Phillips head screwdriver from his sleeve. "I'm a special boy."

"Leo, seriously," Jason pleaded. "What am I doing here? Where are we going?"

Leo knit his eyebrows. "Jason, are you joking?"

"No! I have no idea—"

"Aw, yeah, he's joking," Leo said. "He's trying to get me back for that shaving cream on the Jell-O thing, aren't you?"

Jason stared at him blankly, so did Annabeth.

"Yeah! I am serious!." Leo boasted.

"That's it!" Coach Hedge yelled from the front. "The back row has just volunteered to clean up after lunch!"

The rest of the kids cheered.

"There's a shocker," Leo muttered.

But Leo kept his eyes on Jason and Annabeth, like he couldn't decide whether to be hurt or worried. "Did you hit your head or something? You really don't know who I am?"

Jason shrugged helplessly. "It's worse than that. I don't know who I am."

The bus dropped them in front of a big red stucco complex like a museum, just sitting in the middle of nowhere. Maybe that's what it was: the National Museum of Nowhere, Jason thought. A cold wind blew across the desert. Jason hadn't paid much attention to what he was wearing, but it wasn't nearly warm enough: jeans and sneakers, a purple T-shirt, and a thin black windbreaker. It was pretty much the same to Annabeth, he thought, she wore the same things, except the watch.

"So, a crash course for the amnesiacs," Leo said, in a helpful tone that made Jason think this was not going to be helpful. "We go to the 'Wilderness School'"—Leo made air quotes with his fingers. "Which means we're 'bad kids.' Your family, or the court, or whoever, decided you were too much trouble, so they shipped you off to this lovely prison—sorry, 'boarding school'—in Armpit, Nevada, where you learn valuable nature skills like running ten miles a day through the cacti and weaving daisies into hats! And for a special treat we go on 'educational' field trips with Coach Hedge, who keeps order with a baseball bat. Is it all coming back to you now?"

"No." Jason glanced apprehensively at the other kids: maybe twenty guys, half that many girls. None of them looked like hardened criminals, but he wondered what they'd all done to get sentenced to a school for delinquents, and he wondered why he belonged with them.

Leo rolled his eyes. "You're really gonna play this out, huh? Okay, so the three of us started here together this semester. We're totally tight. You do everything I say and give me your dessert and do my chores—"

"Fine. Ignore that last part. But we are friends."

"I think Annabeth and I have got amnesia. We've got to tell somebody."

Leo scoffed. "Who, Coach Hedge? He'd try to fix Jason by whacking him upside the head."

The coach was at the front of the group, barking orders and blowing his whistle to keep the kids in line; but every so often he'd glance back at Jason and scowl.

"Leo, Jason needs help," Leo insisted. "He's got a concussion or—"

"Yo, Annabeth." One of the other guys dropped back to join them as the group was heading into the museum. The new guy wedged himself between Jason and Piper and knocked Leo down. "Don't talk to these bottom-feeders. You're my partner, remember?"

The new guy had dark hair cut Superman style, a deep tan, and teeth so white they should've come with a warning label: do not stare directly at teeth. permanent blindness may occur. He wore a Dallas Cowboys jersey, Western jeans and boots, and he smiled like he was God's gift to juvenile delinquent girls everywhere. Jason hated him instantly.

"Go away," she grumbled. "I don't remember asking to work with you."

"Ah, that's no way to be. This is your lucky day!" The new guy hooked his arm through hers and dragged her through the museum entrance. Annabeth shot one last look over her shoulder like, SOS or Mayday.

Leo got up and brushed himself off. "I hate that guy." He offered Jason his arm, like they should go skipping inside together. "'I'm Dylan. I'm so cool, I want to date myself, but I can't figure out how! You want to date me instead? You're so lucky!'"

"Leo," Jason said, "you're weird."

"Yeah, you tell me that a lot." Leo grinned. "But if you don't remember me, that means I can reuse all my old jokes. Come on!"

Jason figured that if this was his best friend, his life must be pretty messed up; but he followed Leo into the museum.

They walked through the building, stopping here and there for Coach Hedge to lecture them with his megaphone, which alternately made him sound like a Sith Lord or blared out random comments like "The pig says oink."

Leo kept pulling out nuts, bolts, and pipe cleaners from the pockets of his army jacket and putting them together, like he had to keep his hands busy at all times.

Jason was too distracted to pay much attention to the exhibits, but they were about the Grand Canyon and the Hualapai tribe, which owned the museum.

Some girls kept looking over at Annabeth and Dylan and snickering. Jason figured these girls were the popular clique. They wore matching jeans and pink tops and enough makeup for a Halloween party.

Coach Hedge barked, "Enough back there! Set a good example or I'll break out my baseball bat!"

The group shuffled on to the next exhibit, but the girls kept calling out little comments to her.

Annabeth ignored them, but Jason was ready to punch them himself. He might not remember her, or even who he was; and that she didn't remember him, but he knew he hated mean kids.

Leo caught his arm. "Be cool. Girls doesn't like us fighting their battles. Besides, it's not worth it."

"Yeah."

Leo whistled. "Whatever. We have to talk when we get back to the dorm."

They reached the far end of the exhibit hall, where some big glass doors led out to a terrace.

"All right, cupcakes," Coach Hedge announced. "You are about to see the Grand Canyon. Try not to break it. The skywalk can hold the weight of seventy jumbo jets, so you featherweights should be safe out there. If possible, try to avoid pushing each other over the edge, as that would cause me extra paperwork."

The coach opened the doors, and they all stepped outside. The Grand Canyon spread before them, live and in person. Extending over the edge was a horseshoe-shaped walkway made of glass, so you could see right through it.

"Man," Leo said. "That's pretty wicked."

Jason had to agree. Despite his amnesia and his feeling that he didn't belong there, he couldn't help being impressed.

The canyon was bigger and wider than you could appreciate from a picture. They were up so high that birds circled below their feet. Five hundred feet down, a river snaked along the canyon floor. Banks of storm clouds had moved overhead while they'd been inside, casting shadows like angry faces across the cliffs. As far as Jason could see in any direction, red and gray ravines cut through the desert like some crazy god had taken a knife to it.

Jason got a piercing pain behind his eyes. Crazy gods ... Where had he come up with that idea? He felt like he'd gotten close to something important—something he should know about. He also got the unmistakable feeling he was in danger.

"You all right?" Leo asked. "You're not going to throw up over the side, are you? 'Cause I should've brought my camera."

Jason grabbed the railing. He was shivering and sweaty, but it had nothing to do with heights. He blinked, and the pain behind his eyes subsided.

"I'm fine," he managed. "Just a headache."

Thunder rumbled overhead. A cold wind almost knocked him sideways.

"This can't be safe." Leo squinted at the clouds. "Storm's right over us, but it's clear all the way around. Weird, huh?"

Jason looked up and saw Leo was right. A dark circle of clouds had parked itself over the skywalk, but the rest of the sky in every direction was perfectly clear. Jason had a bad feeling about that.

"All right, cupcakes!" Coach Hedge yelled. He frowned at the storm like it bothered him too. "We may have to cut this short, so get to work! Remember, complete sentences!"

The storm rumbled, and Jason's head began to hurt again. Not knowing why he did it, he reached into his jeans pocket and brought out a coin—a circle of gold the size of a half-dollar, but thicker and more uneven. Stamped on one side was a picture of a battle-ax. On the other was some guy's face wreathed in laurels. The inscription said something like "IVLIVS".

"Dang, is that gold?" Leo asked. "You been holding out on me!"

Jason put the coin away, wondering how he'd come to have it, and why he had the feeling he was going to need it soon.

"It's nothing," he said. "Just a coin."

Leo shrugged. Maybe his mind had to keep moving as much as his hands. "Come on," he said. "Dare you to spit over the edge."

Jason saw, in the middle of the crowd, Annabeth was also fiddling with her watch, he saw that when she pressed that weird button that wasn't on any watch, the disc popped open, and she slammed her palm down on the disc, and it was a regular time-telling-device.

They didn't try very hard on the worksheet. For one thing, Jason was too distracted by the storm and his own mixed-up feelings. For another thing, he didn't have any idea how to "name three sedimentary strata you observe" or "describe two examples of erosion."

Leo was no help. He was too busy building a helicopter out of pipe cleaners.

"Check it out." He launched the copter. Jason figured it would plummet, but the pipe-cleaner blades actually spun. The little copter made it halfway across the canyon before it lost momentum and spiraled into the void.

"How'd you do that?" Jason asked.

Leo shrugged. "Would've been cooler if I had some rubber bands."

"Seriously," Jason said, "are we friends?"

"Last I checked."

"You sure? When was the first day we met? What did we talk about?"

"It was …" Leo frowned. "I don't recall exactly. I'm ADHD, man. You can't expect me to remember details."

"But I don't remember you at all. I don't remember anyone here. What if—"

"You're right and everyone else is wrong?" Leo asked. "You think you just appeared here this morning, and we've all got fake memories of you?"

A little voice in Jason's head said, That's exactly what I think.

But it sounded crazy. Everybody here took him for granted. Everyone acted like he was a normal part of the class—except for Coach Hedge.

"Take the worksheet." Jason handed Leo the paper. "I'll be right back."

Before Leo could protest, Jason headed across the skywalk.

Their school group had the place to themselves. Maybe it was too early in the day for tourists, or maybe the weird weather had scared them off. The Wilderness School kids had spread out in pairs across the skywalk. Most were joking around or talking. Some of the guys were dropping pennies over the side. About fifty feet away, Annabeth was trying to fill out her worksheet, but her stupid partner Dylan was hitting on her, putting his hand on her shoulder and giving her that blinding white smile. She kept pushing him away, and when she saw Jason she gave him a look like, Torture this guy for me, I don't know who he is, but he's annoying.

Jason motioned for her to hang on. He walked up to Coach Hedge, who was leaning on his baseball bat, studying the storm clouds.

"Did you do this?" the coach asked him.

Jason took a step back. "Do what?" It sounded like the coach had just asked if he'd made the thunderstorm.

Coach Hedge glared at him, his beady little eyes glinting under the brim of his cap. "Don't play games with me, kid. What are you doing here, and why are you messing up my job?"

"You mean...you don't know me?" Jason said. "I'm not one of your students?"

Hedge snorted. "Never seen you before today. The same goes to that girl over there." He pointed at Annabeth.

Jason was so relieved he almost wanted to cry. At least he wasn't going insane. He was in the wrong place. "Look, sir, I don't know how I got here. I just woke up on the school bus. All I know is I'm not supposed to be here."

"Got that right." Hedge's gruff voice dropped to a murmur, like he was sharing a secret. "You got a powerful way with the Mist, kid, if you can make all these people think they know you; but you can't fool me. I've been smelling monster for days now. I knew we had an infiltrator, but you don't smell like a monster. You smell like a half-blood. So—who are you, and where'd you come from?"

Most of what the coach said didn't make sense, but Jason decided to answer honestly. "I don't know who I am. I don't have any memories. You've got to help me."

Coach Hedge studied his face like was trying to read Jason's thoughts.

"Great," Hedge muttered. "You're being truthful."

"Of course I am! And what was all that about monsters and half-bloods? Are those code words or something?"

Hedge narrowed his eyes. Part of Jason wondered if the guy was just nuts. But the other part knew better.

"Look, kid," Hedge said, "I don't know who you are. I just know what you are, and it means trouble. Now I got to protect three of you rather than two. Are you the special package? Is that it?"

"What are you talking about?"

Hedge looked at the storm. The clouds were getting thicker and darker, hovering right over the skywalk.

"This morning," Hedge said, "I got a message from camp. They said an extraction team is on the way. They're coming to pick up a special package, but they wouldn't give me details. I thought to myself, Fine. The one I'm watching are pretty powerful, older than most. I know they're being stalked. I can smell a monster in the group. I figure that's why the camp is suddenly frantic to pick them up. But then you pop up out of nowhere. So, are you the special package?"

The pain behind Jason's eyes got worse than ever. Half-bloods. Camp. Monsters. He still didn't know what Hedge was talking about, but the words gave him a massive brain freeze—like his mind was trying to access information that should've been there but wasn't.

He stumbled, and Coach Hedge caught him. For a short guy, the coach had hands like steel. "Whoa, there, cupcake. You say you got no memories, huh? Fine. I'll just have to watch you, too, until the team gets here. We'll let the director figure things out. I've got to talk with the lady now." He walked over to Annabeth.

**A/N: Welcome for reading the Romanized series, this is a rewritten version of the Heroes of Olympus series, when instead of being raised in CHB, Annabeth was born and raised a Roman, sent to Camp Jupiter at the age of four, she's one of the best, along with praetor Jason, and his girlfriend. **

**Info: Annabeth's age has been decreased to Jason's age, fifteen, and Piper's age has been increased to sixteen, or Percy's age. Also the European accent for Annabeth is significant, you will find out later.**


	2. JASON: II

THE STORM CHURNED INTO A MINIATURE HURRICANE. Funnel clouds snaked toward the skywalk like the tendrils of a monster jellyfish.

Kids screamed and ran for the building. The wind snatched away their notebooks, jackets, hats, and backpacks. Jason skidded across the slick floor.

Leo lost his balance and almost toppled over the railing, but Jason grabbed his jacket and pulled him back.

"Thanks, man!" Leo yelled.

"Go, go, go!" said Coach Hedge.

Annabeth and Dylan were holding the doors open, herding the other kids inside. Annabeth's windbreaker was flapping wildly, her platinum hair all in her face. Jason thought she must've been freezing, but she looked calm and confident—telling the others it would be okay, encouraging them to keep moving.

Jason, Leo, and Coach Hedge ran toward them, but it was like running through quicksand. The wind seemed to fight them, pushing them back.

Dylan and Annabeth pushed one more kid inside, then lost their grip on the doors. They slammed shut, closing off the skywalk.

Annabeth tugged at the handles. Inside, the kids pounded on the glass, but the doors seemed to be stuck.

"Dylan, help!" Annabeth shouted.

Dylan just stood there with an idiotic grin, his Cowboys jersey rippling in the wind, like he was suddenly enjoying the storm.

"Sorry, Annabeth," he said. "I'm done helping."

He flicked his wrist, and Annabeth flew backward, slamming into the doors and sliding to the skywalk deck.

"Annabeth!" Jason tried to charge forward, but the wind was against him, and Coach Hedge pushed him back.

"Coach," Jason said, "let me go!"

"Jason, Leo, stay behind me," the coach ordered. "This is my fight. I should've known that was our monster."

"What?" Leo demanded. A rogue worksheet slapped him in the face, but he swatted it away. "What monster?"

The coach's cap blew off, and sticking up above his curly hair were two bumps—like the knots cartoon characters get when they're bonked on the head. Coach Hedge lifted his baseball bat—but it wasn't a regular bat anymore. Somehow it had changed into a crudely shaped tree-branch club, with twigs and leaves still attached.

Dylan gave him that psycho happy smile. "Oh, come on, Coach. Let the boy attack me! After all, you're getting too old for this. Isn't that why they retired you to this stupid school? I've been on your team the entire season, and you didn't even know. You're losing your nose, grandpa."

The coach made an angry sound like an animal bleating. "That's it, cupcake. You're going down."

"You think you can protect three half-bloods at once, old man?" Dylan laughed. "Good luck."

Dylan pointed at Leo, and a funnel cloud materialized around him. Leo flew off the skywalk like he'd been tossed. Somehow he managed to twist in midair, and slammed sideways into the canyon wall. He skidded, clawing furiously for any handhold. Finally he grabbed a thin ledge about fifty feet below the skywalk and hung there by his fingertips.

"Help!" he yelled up at them. "Rope, please? Bungee cord? Something?"

Coach Hedge cursed and tossed Jason his club. "I don't know who you are, kid, but I hope you're good. Keep that thing busy"—he stabbed a thumb at Dylan—"while I get Leo."

"Get him how?" Jason demanded. "You going to fly?"

"Not fly. Climb." Hedge kicked off his shoes, and Jason almost had a coronary. The coach didn't have any feet. He had hooves—goat's hooves. Which meant those things on his head, Jason realized, weren't bumps. They were horns.

"You're a faun," Jason said, amazed.

"Satyr!" Hedge snapped. "Fauns are Roman. But we'll talk about that later."

Hedge leaped over the railing. He sailed toward the canyon wall and hit hooves first. He bounded down the cliff with impossible agility, finding footholds no bigger than postage stamps, dodging whirlwinds that tried to attack him as he picked his way toward Leo.

"Isn't that cute!" Dylan turned toward Jason. "Now it's your turn, boy."

Jason threw the club. It seemed useless with the winds so strong, but the club flew right at Dylan, even curving when he tried to dodge, and smacked him on the head so hard he fell to his knees.

Annabeth wasn't as confused as she appeared. Her fingers hovered over her watch to press the plastic button, but before she could press it, Dylan rose. Blood—golden blood—trickled from his forehead.

"Nice try, boy." He glared at Jason. "But you'll have to do better."

The skywalk shuddered. Hairline fractures appeared in the glass. Inside the museum, kids stopped banging on the doors. They backed away, watching in terror.

Dylan's body dissolved into smoke, as if his molecules were coming unglued. He had the same face, the same brilliant white smile, but his whole form was suddenly composed of swirling black vapor, his eyes like electrical sparks in a living storm cloud. He sprouted black smoky wings and rose above the skywalk. If angels could be evil, Jason decided, they would look exactly like this.

"You're a ventus," Jason said, though he had no idea how he knew that word. "A storm spirit."

Dylan's laugh sounded like a tornado tearing off a roof. "I'm glad I waited, demigod. Leo, I've known about for weeks. Could've killed them at any time. But my mistress said a second and a third were coming—someone special. She'll reward me greatly for your death!"

Two more funnel clouds touched down on either side of Dylan and turned into venti—ghostly young men with smoky wings and eyes that flickered with lightning.

Annabeth stayed down, pretending to be dazed, her hand still spinning the dial on her watch. Her face was pale, but she gave Jason a thumbs up, and he understood the message: Keep their attention. I'll brain them from behind.

Cute, smart, and violent. Jason liked that kind

He clenched his fists and got ready to charge, but he never got a chance.

Dylan raised his hand, arcs of electricity running between his fingers, and blasted Jason in the chest.

Bang! Jason found himself flat on his back. His mouth tasted like burning aluminum foil. He lifted his head and saw that his clothes were smoking. The lightning bolt had gone straight though his body and blasted off his left shoe. His toes were black with soot.

The storm spirits were laughing. The winds raged. Leo was screaming defiantly, but it all sounded tinny and far away.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason saw Coach Hedge climbing the cliff with Leo on his back. Annabeth was on her feet, holding up a gold and silver sword to fend off the two extra storm spirits, was an expert, but the storm spirits were good. The blade passed right through them. And Dylan, a dark and winged tornado with eyes, loomed over Jason.

"Stop," Jason croaked. He rose unsteadily to his feet, and he wasn't sure who was more surprised: him, or the storm spirits.

"How are you alive?" Dylan's form flickered. "That was enough lightning to kill twenty men!"

"My turn," Jason said.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out the gold coin. He let his instincts take over, flipping the coin in the air like he'd done it a thousand times. He caught it in his palm, and suddenly he was holding a sword—a wickedly sharp double-edged weapon. The ridged grip fit his fingers perfectly, and the whole thing was gold—hilt, handle, and blade.

Dylan snarled and backed up. He looked at his two comrades and yelled, "Well? Kill him!"

The other storm spirits didn't look happy with that order, but they flew at Jason, their fingers crackling with electricity.

Jason swung at the first spirit. His blade passed through it, and the creature's smoky form disintegrated.

Annabeth ran over. The second spirit let loose a bolt of lightning, but Annabeth's blade reflected the charge. Jason stepped in—one quick thrust, and the second storm spirit dissolved into gold powder.

Dylan wailed in outrage. He looked down as if expecting his comrades to re-form, but their gold dust remains dispersed in the wind. "Impossible! Who are you, half-blood?"

Leo was so stunned his mouth hung open. "Jason, how … ?"

Then Coach Hedge leaped back onto the skywalk and dumped Leo like a sack of flour.

"Spirits, fear me!" Hedge bellowed, flexing his short arms. Then he looked around and realized there was only Dylan.

"Curse it, boy!" he snapped at Jason. "Didn't you leave some for me? I like a challenge!"

Leo got to his feet, breathing hard. He looked completely humiliated, his hands bleeding from clawing at the rocks. "Yo, Coach Supergoat, whatever you are—I just fell down the freaking Grand Canyon! Stop asking for challenges!"

Dylan hissed at them, but Jason could see fear in his eyes. "You have no idea how many enemies you've awakened, half-bloods. My mistress will destroy all demigods. This war you cannot win."

Above them, the storm exploded into a full-force gale. Cracks expanded in the skywalk. Sheets of rain poured down, and Jason had to crouch to keep his balance.

A hole opened in the clouds—a swirling vortex of black and silver.

"The mistress calls me back!" Dylan shouted with glee. "And you, demigod, will come with me!"

He lunged at Jason, but Annabeth tackled the monster from behind. Even though he was made of smoke, Annabeth r somehow managed to connect. Both of them went sprawling. Leo, Jason, and the coach surged forward to help, but the spirit screamed with rage. He let loose a torrent that knocked them all backward. Jason and Coach Hedge landed on their butts. Jason's sword skidded across the glass. Leo hit the back of his head and curled on his side, dazed and groaning. Annabeth got the worst of it. She was thrown off Dylan's back and hit the railing, tumbling over the side until she was hanging by one hand over the abyss.

Annabeth tried to pull herself up, but the railing was slippery, so she slipped as soon as her shoe stepped on it.

Jason started toward her, but Dylan screamed, "I'll settle for this one!"

He grabbed Leo's arm and began to rise, towing a half-conscious Leo below him. The storm spun faster, pulling them upward like a vacuum cleaner.

"Help!" Piper yelled. "Somebody!"

Then she let loose, and screamed once.

"Jason, go!" Hedge yelled. "Save her!"

The coach launched himself at the spirit with some serious goat fu—lashing out with his hooves, knocking Leo free from the spirit's grasp. Leo dropped safely to the floor, but Dylan grappled the coach's arms instead. Hedge tried to head-butt him, then kicked him and called him a cupcake. They rose into the air, gaining speed.

Coach Hedge shouted down once more, "Save her! I got this!" Then the satyr and the storm spirit spiraled into the clouds and disappeared.

Save her? Jason thought. She's gone!

But again his instincts won. He ran to the railing, thinking, I'm a lunatic, and jumped over the side.

Jason wasn't scared of heights. He was scared of being smashed against the canyon floor five hundred feet below. He figured he hadn't accomplished anything except for dying along with Annabeth, but he tucked in his arms and plummeted headfirst. The sides of the canyon raced past like a film on fast-forward. His face felt like it was peeling off.

In a heartbeat, he caught up with Annabeth, who was tucked in a ball. He tackled her waist and closed his eyes, waiting for death. Annabeth took a deep breath. The wind whistled in Jason's ears. He wondered what dying would feel like. He was thinking, probably not so good. He wished somehow they could never hit bottom.

Suddenly the wind died. Jason thought they must be dead, but he hadn't felt any impact.

"J-J-Jason," Annabeth managed.

He opened his eyes. They weren't falling. They were floating in midair, a hundred feet above the river.

He hugged Annabeth tight, and she didn't move, bit Jason could feel her heartbeat. Her heart beat so hard, Jason could feel it through her

She said, surprised, "How did you—"

"I didn't," he said. "I think I would know if I could fly…"

But then he thought: I don't even know who I am.

He imagined going up. Annabeth yelped as they shot a few feet higher. They weren't exactly floating, Jason decided. He could feel pressure under his feet like they were balancing at the top of a geyser.

"The air is supporting us," he said.

"Well, tell it to support us more! Get us out of here!"

Jason looked down. The easiest thing would be to sink gently to the canyon floor. Then he looked up. The rain had stopped. The storm clouds didn't seem as bad, but they were still rumbling and flashing. There was no guarantee the spirits were gone for good. He had no idea what had happened to Coach Hedge. And he'd left Leo up there, barely conscious.

"We have to help them," Annabeth said, as if reading his thoughts. "Can you—"

"Let's see." Jason thought Up, and instantly they shot skyward.

The fact he was riding the winds might've been cool under different circumstances, but he was too much in shock. As soon as they landed on the skywalk, they ran to Leo.

Annabeth turned Leo over, and he groaned. His army coat was soaked from the rain. His curly hair glittered gold from rolling around in monster dust. But at least he wasn't dead.

"Stupid … ugly … goat," he muttered.

"Where did he go?" Piper asked.

Leo pointed straight up. "Never came down. Please tell me he didn't actually save my life."

"Twice," Jason said.

Leo groaned even louder. "What happened? The tornado guy, the gold swords … I hit my head. That's it, right? I'm hallucinating?"

Jason had forgotten about the sword. He walked over to where it was lying and picked it up. The blade was well balanced. On a hunch he flipped it. Midspin, the sword shrank back into a coin and landed in his palm. Annabeth's silver and gold sword also casted back into a regular diver's watch.

"Yep," Leo said. "Definitely hallucinating. Anyway, what were those things?"

"Venti," he said.

"Storm spirits," continued Annabeth

"Okay. You acted like … like you'd seen them before. Who are you?"

He shook his head. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. I don't know."

"Ditto," said Annabeth.

The storm dissipated. The other kids from the Wilderness School were staring out the glass doors in horror. Security guards were working on the locks now, but they didn't seem to be having any luck.

"Coach Hedge said he had to protect three people," Jason remembered. "I think he meant us."

Leo lay on his back, staring at the sky. He didn't seem anxious to get up. "Hedge called us demigods, Don't know what demi means," he said. "But I'm not feeling too godly. You guys feeling godly?"

There was a brittle sound like dry twigs snapping, and the cracks in the skywalk began to widen.

"We need to get off this thing," Jason said. "Maybe if we—"

"Ohhh-kay," Leo interrupted. "Look up there and tell me if those are flying horses."

At first Jason thought Leo had hit his head too hard. Then he saw a dark shape descending from the east—too slow for a plane, too large for a bird. As it got closer he could see a pair of winged animals—gray, four-legged, exactly like horses—except each one had a twenty-foot wingspan. And they were pulling a brightly painted box with two wheels: a chariot.

"Reinforcements," he said. "Hedge told me an extraction squad was coming for us."

"Extraction squad?" Leo struggled to his feet. "That sounds painful."

"And where are they extracting us to?" Annabeth asked.

Jason watched as the chariot landed on the far end of the skywalk. The flying horses tucked in their wings and cantered nervously across the glass, as if they sensed it was near breaking. Two teenagers stood in the chariot—a tall, tan girl maybe a little older than Jason, and a bulky dude with a shaved head and a face like a pile of bricks. They both wore jeans and orange T-shirts, with shields tossed over their backs. The girl leaped off before the chariot had even finished moving. She pulled a knife and ran toward Jason's group while the bulky dude was reining in the horses.

"Where is he?" the girl demanded. Her eyes flashed in many different colors, and it finally settled on an angry red and were a little startling.

"Where's who?" Jason asked.

She frowned like his answer was unacceptable. Then she turned to Leo. "What about Gleeson? Where is your protector, Gleeson Hedge?"

The coach's first name was Gleeson? Jason might've laughed if the morning hadn't been quite so weird and scary. Gleeson Hedge: football coach, goat man, protector of demigods. Sure. Why not?

Leo cleared his throat. "He got taken by some … tornado things."

"Venti," Annabeth said. "Storm spirits."

The girl arched an eyebrow. "You mean anemoi thuellai? That's the Greek term. Who are you, and what happened?"

Jason did his best to explain, though it was hard to meet those intense red eyes. About halfway through the story, the other guy from the chariot came over. He stood there glaring at them, his arms crossed. He had a tattoo of a rainbow on his biceps, which seemed a little unusual.

When Jason had finished his story, the blond girl didn't look satisfied. "No, no, no! She told me he would be here. She told me if I came here, I'd find the answer."

"Piper" the bald guy grunted. "Check it out." He pointed at Jason's feet.

Jason hadn't thought much about it, but he was still missing his left shoe, which had been blown off by the lightning. His bare foot felt okay, but it looked like a lump of charcoal.

"The guy with one shoe," said the bald dude. "He's the answer."

"No, Butch," the girl insisted. "He can't be. I was tricked." She glared at the sky as though it had done something wrong. "What do you want from me?" she screamed. "What have you done with him?"

The skywalk shuddered, and the horses whinnied urgently.

"Piper," said the bald dude, Butch, "we gotta leave. Let's get these three to camp and figure it out there. Those storm spirits might come back."

She fumed for a moment. "Fine." She fixed Jason with a resentful look. "We'll settle this later."

She turned on her heel and marched toward the chariot.

Annabeth shook her head. "What's her problem?"

"Seriously," Leo agreed.

"We have to get you out of here," Butch said. "I'll explain on the way."

"I'm not going anywhere with her." Jason gestured toward the girl. "She looks like she wants to kill me."

Butch hesitated. "Piper's okay. You gotta cut her some slack. She had a vision telling her to come here, to find a guy with one shoe. That was supposed to be the answer to her problem."

"What problem?" Annabeth asked.

"She's been looking for one of our campers, who's been missing three days," Butch said. "She's going out of her mind with worry. She hoped he'd be here."

"Who?" Jason asked.

"Her boyfriend," Butch said. "A guy named Percy Jackson."

**A/N: that's chapter two, and Annabeth's watch-sword is called Infinitus, Latin for infinity, as it can turn into many kinds of weapons, from Roman gladiuses to a modern M16, or a prototype SCAR. Hope you liked it. The silver is called Tiberian Silver, or in the old days of Greece, Agean Silver, as Roman blacksmiths doused the weaponry made from that metal in the Tiber, while Greeks doused them in the Agean Sea.**


	3. ANNABETH: III

_**Special Spring Equinox Update: Chapter 3**_

AFTER A MORNING OF STORM SPIRIT'S, goat men, and flying real life superboys and her own memory gone, Annabeth should've been sent to a paramedic to check on her brain.

She stood in back of the chariot with Leo and Jason, while the bald guy, Butch, handled the reins, and the girl with the knife, Piper, adjusted a bronze navigation device. They rose over the Grand Canyon and headed east, icy wind ripping straight through Annabeth's jacket. Behind them, more storm clouds were gathering.

The chariot lurched and bumped. It had no seat belts and the back was wide open, so Annabeth wondered if Jason would catch her again if she fell, with his flying powers. That had been the most disturbing part of the morning—not that Jason could fly, but that he'd held her in, his arms and she didn't feel good by having him as a guardian angel.

It was like someone had wiped his memory, along with hers, she wanted to murder the person who did that. She wanted to scream. Jason stood right next to her: those sky blue eyes, close-cropped blond hair, that scar on his upper lip. His face was kind and gentle, but always a little sad. And he just stared at the horizon, not even noticing her.

Meanwhile, Leo was being annoying, as usual. "This is so cool!" He spit a pegasus feather out of his mouth. "Where are we going?"

"A safe place," Butch said. "The only safe place for kids like us. Camp Half-Blood."

"Half-Blood," Piper grumbled. Annabeth had a hunch she hated that word. Maybe she'd been called a half-blood too many times—half Cherokee, half whitewould be. "Never bothered to learn, but the person who made up that name has for to be some kind of bad joke."

"She means we're demigods," Jason said.

"Half god, half mortal." Annabeth continued.

Piper looked back. "You seem to know a lot, Jason and Annabeth. But, yes, demigods. My mom is Aphrodite, goddess of love. Butch here is the son of Iris, the rainbow goddess."

Leo choked. "Your mom is a rainbow goddess?"

"Got a problem with that?" Butch said.

"No, no," Leo said. "Rainbows. Very macho."

"Butch is our best equestrian," Piper said. "He gets along great with the pegasi."

"Rainbows, ponies," Leo muttered.

"I'm gonna toss you off this chariot," Butch warned.

"Demigods," Leo said. "You mean you think you're … you think we're—"

Lightning flashed. The chariot shuddered, and Jason yelled, "Left wheel's on fire!"

Annabeth stepped back. Sure enough, the wheel was burning, white flames lapping up the side of the chariot.

The wind roared. Annabeth glanced behind them and saw dark shapes forming in the clouds, more storm spirits spiraling toward the chariot—except these looked more like horses than angels.

She started to say, "Why are they—"

"Anemoi come in different shapes," Piper said. "Sometimes human, sometimes stallions, depending on how chaotic they are. Hold on. This is going to get rough."

Butch flicked the reins. The pegasi put on a burst of speed, and the chariot blurred. Annabeth's stomach churned. Her vision went black, and when it came back to normal, they were in a totally different place.

A cold gray ocean stretched out to the left. Snow-covered fields, roads, and forests spread to the right. Directly below them was a green valley, like an island of springtime, rimmed with snowy hills on three sides and water to the north. Piper saw a cluster of buildings like ancient Greek temples, a big blue mansion, ball courts, a lake, and a climbing wall that seemed to be on fire. But before she could really process all she was seeing, their wheels came off and the chariot dropped out of the sky.

Butch tried to maintain control. The pegasi labored to hold the chariot in a flight pattern, but they seemed exhausted from their burst of speed, and bearing the chariot and the weight of five people was just too much.

"The lake!" Piper yelled. "Aim for the lake!"

Using her smarts Annabeth tucked into a ball. As that would guarantee her less injury for sure.

And then—BOOM.

The biggest shock was the cold. She was underwater.

She just had time to think: This would be a stupid way to die. She saw faces appeared in the green murk—girls with long black hair and glowing yellow eyes. They smiled, but before they hoisted her up, she had already swam to the surface.

She climbed on shore, gasping and shivering. Nearby, Butch stood in the lake, cutting the wrecked harnesses off the pegasi. Fortunately, the horses looked okay, but they were flapping their wings and splashing water everywhere. Jason, Leo, and Piper were already on shore, surrounded by kids giving them blankets and asking questions. Somebody took Annabeth by the arms and helped her stand. Apparently kids fell into the lake a lot, because a detail of campers ran up with big bronze leaf blower–looking things and blasted Annabeth with hot air; and in about two seconds her clothes were dry.

There were at least twenty campers milling around—the youngest maybe nine, the oldest college age, eighteen or nineteen—and all of them had orange T-shirts like Piper's. Annabeth looked back at the water and saw those strange girls just below the surface, their hair floating in the current. They waved like, toodle-oo, and disappeared into the depths. A second later the wreckage of the chariot was tossed from the lake and landed nearby with a wet crunch.

"Piper!" A guy with a bow and quiver on his back pushed through the crowd. "I said you could borrow the chariot, not destroy it!"

"Will, I'm sorry," Piper sighed. "I'll get it fixed, I promise."

Will scowled at his broken chariot. Then he sized up Annabeth, Leo, and Jason. "These are the ones? Way older than thirteen. Why haven't they been claimed already?"

"Claimed?" Leo asked.

Before Piper could explain, Will said, "Any sign of Percy?"

"No," Piper admitted.

The campers muttered. Annabeth had no idea who this guy Percy was, but his disappearance seemed to be a big deal.

Another boy stepped forward — tousled golden blond hair, intelligent looking gray eyes, gold rimmed spectacles, slacks and oxfords. Somehow he managed to made glasses look genius like, not nerdy. He glanced at Leo, fixed his eyes on Jason like he might have some use, then curled his lip at Annabeth as if she were a week-old burrito that had just been pulled out of a Dumpster. Annabeth knew this kid was snobbish instantly they were going to be enemies.

"Well," the boy said, "I hope they're worth the trouble."

Leo snorted. "Gee, thanks. What are we, your new pets?"

"No kidding," Jason said. "How about some answers before you start judging us—like, what is this place, why are we here, how long do we have to stay?"

"Jason," Piper said, "I promise we'll answer your questions. And Malcolm"—she frowned at junior Einstein—"all demigods are worth saving. But I'll admit, the trip didn't accomplish what I hoped."

"Hey," Leo said, "we didn't ask to be brought here."

Malcolm sniffed. "And nobody wants a bird brain like you here too."

Annabeth stepped forward, ready to kick him in the gut, but Piper said, "Annabeth, stop."

Annabeth did. She wasn't a bit scared of Malcolm, but Piper didn't seem like somebody she wanted for an enemy.

"We need to make our new arrivals feel welcome," Piper said, with another pointed look at Malcolm. "We'll assign them each a guide, give them a tour of camp. Hopefully by the campfire tonight, they'll be claimed."

"Would somebody tell me what claimed means?" Leo asked.

Suddenly there was a collective gasp. The campers backed away. At first Annabeth thought she'd done something wrong. Then she realized their faces were bathed in a strange red light, as if someone had lit a torch behind her. She turned and almost forgot how to breathe.

Floating over Leo's head was a blazing holographic image —a fiery hammer.

"That," Piper said, "is claiming."

"What'd I do?" Leo backed toward the lake. Then he glanced up and yelped. "Is my hair on fire?" He ducked, but the symbol followed him, bobbing and weaving so it looked like he was trying to write something in flames with his head.

"This can't be good," Butch muttered. "The curse—"

"Butch, shut up," Piper said. "Leo, you've just been claimed—"

"By a god," Jason interrupted. "That's the symbol of Vulcan, isn't it?"

All eyes turned to him.

"Jason," Piper said carefully, "how did you know that?"

"I'm not sure."

"Vulcan?" Leo demanded. "I don't even LIKE Star Trek. What are you talking about?"

"Vulcan is the Roman name for Hephaestus," Piper said, "the god of blacksmiths and fire."

The fiery hammer faded, but Leo kept swatting the air like he was afraid it was following him. "The god of what? Who?"

Piper turned to the guy with the bow. "Will, would you take Leo, give him a tour? Introduce him to his bunk-mates in Cabin Nine."

"Sure, Piper."

"What's Cabin Nine?" Leo asked. "And I'm not a Vulcan!"

"Come on, Mr. Spock, I'll explain everything." Will put a hand on his shoulder and steered him off toward the cabins.

Piper turned her attention back to Jason and Annabeth. Usually Annabeth didn't like it when other people stared at her, but Piper didn't seem to care. She studied him more like a photocopy scan. Finally she said, "Hold out your arms."

Annabeth followed Piper's verdict.

She took off her jacket, and found out what Piper was curious about, an owl, with double swords crossed behind, like a skull and crossbones, the letters SPQR, and eleven lines under it, like a barcode, a declaration of war. Jason had an eagle, double swords, SPQR and a dozen lines.

"I've never seen marks like this," Piper said. "Where did you get them?"

Annabeth and Jason shook their heads. "We're getting really tired of saying this, but we don't know."

The other campers pushed forward, trying to get a look at Jason and Annabeth's tattoo. The marks seemed to bother them a lot—almost like a declaration of war.

"They look burned into your skin," Piper noticed.

"They were," Jason said. Then he winced as if his head was aching. "I mean … I think so. I don't remember."

"Yeah, I think burned," then her head felt like bursting.

No one said anything. It was clear the campers saw Piper as the leader. They were waiting for her verdict.

"He needs to go straight to Chiron," Piper decided. "Malcolm, would you—"

"Absolutely." Malcolm placed is arm on Jason's shoulder. "This way, Jason. I'll introduce you to our director. He's … an interesting guy." He flashed Annabeth a smug look and led Jason toward the big blue house on the hill.

The crowd began to disperse, until only Piper and Annabeth were left.

"Who's Chiron?" Annabeth asked. "Is Jason in some kind of trouble?"

Piper hesitated. "Good question, Annabeth. Come on, I'll give you a tour. We need to talk I'll take you to Chiron later."

**A/N: That's chapter three, in Annabeth's point of view, hope you liked it. I had to replace Drew with Malcolm, as I needed someone as the head counselor of the Athena cabin, not the Aphrodite. More info on Tiberian silver/Aegean silver in the next chapter.**


	4. ANNABETH: IV

ANNABETH SOON REALIZED PIPER'S HEART wasn't in the tour.

She talked about all this stuff the camp offered—magic archery, pegasus riding, the lava wall, fighting monsters —but she showed no excitement (as did Annabeth), as if her mind were elsewhere. She pointed out the open-air dining pavilion that overlooked Long Island Sound. (Yes, Long Island, New York; they'd traveled that far on the chariot.) Piper explained how Camp Half-Blood was mostly a summer camp, but some kids stayed here year-round, and they'd added so many campers it was always crowded now, even in winter.

Annabeth wondered who ran the camp..

As they climbed a hill at the edge of camp, Annabeth turned and got an amazing view of the valley—a big stretch of woods to the northwest, a beautiful beach, the creek, the canoe lake, lush green fields, and the whole layout of the cabins—a bizarre assortment of buildings arranged like a Greek omega, Ω, with a loop of cabins around a central green, and two wings sticking out the bottom on either side. Piper counted twenty cabins in all. One glowed golden, another silver. One had grass on the roof. Another was bright red with barbed wire trenches. One cabin was black with fiery green torches out front. Wierd.

All of it seemed like a totally different universe from the snowy hills and fields outside.

"The valley is protected from mortal eyes," Piper said. "As you can see, the weather is controlled, too. Each cabin represents a Greek god—a place for that god's children to live."

She looked at Annabeth like she was trying to judge how Annabeth was handling the news.

"So, you're saying you're a demigod, any cool powers?"

Piper nodded. "Charmspeaking, yeah. A form of hypnotizing that makes a person always do what I say."

"Who's my godly parent? You should know, judging from my personality."

"We should know soon, but it's hard to tell," Piper said. "You're what—fifteen? Gods are supposed to claim you when you're thirteen. That was the deal."

"The deal? And I don't know how old am I."

"They made a promise last summer … well, long story… but they promised not to ignore their demigod children anymore, to claim them by the time they turn thirteen. Sometimes it takes a little longer, but you saw how fast Leo was claimed once he got here. Should happen for you soon. Tonight at the campfire, I bet we'll get a sign."

Annabeth wondered if she'd have a big flaming hammer over her head, or with her luck, something even more embarrassing."Why thirteen?" She asked, curiously.

"The older you get," Piper said, "the more monsters notice you, try to kill you. 'Round thirteen is usually when it starts. That's why we send protectors into the schools to find you guys, get you to camp before it's too late."

"Like Coach Hedge?"

Piper nodded. "He's—he was a satyr: half man, half goat. Satyrs work for the camp, finding demigods, protecting them, bringing them in when the time is right."

"What happened to him?" she asked. "When we went up into the clouds, did he … is he gone for good?"

"Hard to say." Piper's expression was pained. "Storm spirits … difficult to battle. Even our best weapons, Celestial bronze, will pass right through them unless you can catch them by surprise."

"Jason's sword just turned them to dust, though mine couldn't," Annabeth remembered.

"He was lucky, then. If you hit a monster just right, you can dissolve them, send their essence back to Tartarus."

"Tartarus?"

"A huge abyss in the Underworld, where the worst monsters come from. Kind of like a bottomless pit of evil. Anyway, once monsters dissolve, it usually takes months, even years before they can re-form again. But since this storm spirit Dylan got away—well, I don't know why he'd keep Hedge alive. Hedge was a protector, though. He knew the risks. Satyrs don't have mortal souls. He'll be reincarnated as a tree or a flower or something."

Annabeth tried to imagine Coach Hedge as a cactus in the wild. That made her feel like vomiting, and her headaches got worse..

She gazed at the cabins below, and an uneasy feeling settled over her. Hedge had died to get her here safely. Her godly parent's cabin was one of the twenty, just maybe not Hera's or Artemis's.

"It'll be okay," Piper promised. "You have friends here. We've all been through a lot of weird stuff. We know what you're going through."

I doubt that anyone came here as an amnesiac, Piper thought.

"Seriously? Anyone arrived here without their memory then?"

"Nobody of what I know of. Most of us are diagnosed with attention deficit disorder or dyslexia, or both—"

"Leo's ADHD, I can tell." Annabeth said.

"Right. It's because we're hardwired for battle. Restless, impulsive—we don't fit in with regular kids. You should hear how much trouble Percy—" Her face darkened. "Anyway, demigods get a bad rep With luck, your parent will claim you tonight."

Piper was studying her. Annabeth decided she was going to have to be careful what she said from now on. Piper was obviously street-smart. If anyone could figure out Annabeth's secret …

"Come on," Piper said at last. "There's something else I need to check."

They hiked a little farther until they reached a cave near the top of the hill. Bones and old swords littered the ground. Torches flanked the entrance, which was covered in a velvet curtain embroidered with snakes. It looked like the set for some kind of twisted puppet show.

"What's in there?" Annabeth asked.

Piper poked her head inside, then sighed and closed the curtains. "Nothing, right now. A friend's place. I've been expecting her for a few days, but so far, nothing."

"Your friend lives in a cave?"

Piper almost managed a smile. "Actually, her family has a luxury condo in Queens, and she goes to a finishing school in Connecticut. But when she's here at camp, yeah, she lives in the cave. She's our oracle, tells the future. I was hoping she could help me—"

"Find Percy," Annabeth guessed.

All the energy drained out of Piper, like she'd been holding it together for as long as she could. She sat down on a rock, and her expression was so full of pain, Piper felt like a voyeur.

She forced herself to look away. Her eyes drifted to the crest of the hill, where a single pine tree dominated the skyline. Something glittered in its lowest branch—like a fuzzy gold bath mat.

No … not a bath mat. It was a sheep's fleece.

Okay, Annabeth thought. Greek camp. They've got a replica of the Golden Fleece.

Then she noticed the base of the tree. At first she thought it was wrapped in a pile of massive purple cables. But the cables had reptilian scales, clawed feet, and a snakelike head with yellow eyes and smoking nostrils.

"That's a dragon," she stammered. "That's the actual Golden Fleece? Weird, a golden eagle would be better, more powerful."

Piper spoke, "Fleece, eagles are Roman", but it was clear she wasn't really listening. Her shoulders drooped. She rubbed her face and took a shaky breath. "Sorry. A little tired."

"You look ready to drop," Annabeth said. "How long have been searching for your boyfriend?"

"Three days, six hours, and about twelve minutes."

"And you've got no idea what happened to him?"

Piper shook her head miserably. "We were so excited because we both started winter break early. We met up at camp on Tuesday, figured we had three weeks together. It was going to be great. Then after the campfire, he—he kissed me good night, went back to his cabin, and in the morning, he was gone. We searched the whole camp. We contacted his mom. We've tried to reach him every way we know how. Nothing. He just disappeared."

"Since when?"

"Since August," Piper said. "August eighteenth."

Annabeth's head pained to remember things from August, but nothing happened, the memories were gone.

"Tell me, what do you remember?"

"Facts, a hundred languages, and how to operate my watch."

"Tell me you full name."

"Annabeth Seraphina Cato Chase."

"What about Jason's last name, do you know it?"

Piper felt like she'd been hit between the eyes. "He must have told me, but—"

"Piper, what's his last name?"

Her mind went blank. She didn't know Jason's last name. She only knew her own personal information.

"Where is this place, who am I, why doesn't this place feel right?" She murmured.

Piper said "We'll figure it out. Who knows? Maybe it'll work out with you guys for real."

Not likely, Annabeth thought.

She rubbed her eyes. "You brought me up here so no one would see me telling you what I know, huh?"

Piper shrugged. "No."

"But I still can't believe why I was sent here, why you guys found me."

"Good questions," Piper said. "Hopefully Chiron can figure that out. But for now, we need to get you settled. You ready to go back down?"

Annabeth gazed at the crazy assortment of cabins in the valley. Her new place to stay, for the moment now. She took a deep breath, the journey was starting.

She didn't have a choice.

"Yeah," she lied. "I'm ready."

On the central green, a group of campers was playing basketball. They were incredible shots. Nothing bounced off the rim. Three-pointers went in automatically.

"Apollo's cabin," Piper explained. "Bunch of showoffs with missile weapons—arrows, basketballs."

They walked past a central fire pit, where two guys were hacking at each other with swords.

"Real blades?" Annabeth noted. "That sounds familiar."

"That's sort of the point," Piper said. "Uh, sorry my bad. That's my cabin over there. Number Nine. Aphrodite's." She pointed to a cabin which looked like a dolls house. Though it was nothing like it. There were people inside designing different fashionable looking, yet practical armor, or protective wear.

"Speaking of blades," Piper said, "come here."

She led Annabeth around the side of the cabin, to a big metal shed looked like it was meant for gardening tools. Piper unlocked it, and inside were not gardening tools, unless you wanted to make war on your tomato plants. The shed was lined with all sorts of weapons—from swords to spears to clubs like Coach Hedge's.

"Every demigod needs a weapon," Piper said. "Hephaestus makes the best, but we have a pretty good selection, too. Let's see which one suits you."

Annabeth didn't feel much like having another sword, so she spoke. "I think I already have a blade." She showed Piper her watch.

"I have seen plenty of diver's watches, but not one with the brand Infinitus."

"That's the name of the watch. Look closely. Anyway, what kind of blade do you want, I think I can do guns too."

"A Roman gladius or a Chinese jian would be nice."

Annabeth pushed the button and the face of the watch popped up. Underneath was a dial, she spun it until it landed on the gladius. She pressed the dial. The watch melted, until it was morphed into the shape of a Roman gladius. It fit perfectly in Annabeth's hand.

The blade was half gold and half silver, the hilt was platinum. And the grasp was wrapped with really sturdy yet comfortable to hold leather.

"I haven't seen that in a long time." Piper said, mouth open. "Aegean silver, a really rare and really good metal against monsters, and Imperial gold, first called enchanted gold, but renamed imperial gold. And Divine Platinum. The best material. It is extremely hard to fuse all three materials together, also there is no Celestial Bronze in the sword. Where did you get that sword?"

"I do not know where I received my Tiberian silver and imperial gold sword."

"We'll just leave it for when you remember, I expect you to tell us. You might be a really powerful demigod. Anyway _Tiberian_? Isn't it called Aegean? Also, I need to make a phone call. Though there's a rule against it." she said. "Most demigods, if they use a cell phone, it's like sending up a signal, letting monsters know where you are" she slipped it out of her pocket. "Kind of against the rules, but if it can be our secret … Don't tell anyone."

Piper stepped aside, turned on her phone and dialed a number, then she spoke, "Is my father here?"

Annabeth heard a "no" coming from the other line.

"I'll call his private line."

But just as Annabeth guessed, it went to his mailbox.

"No luck?" Annabeth asked.

Piper didn't answer.

Annabeth glanced at the phone display and hesitated. "Your last name is McLean? Sorry, it's not my business. But that sounds really familiar."

"Common name."

"Yeah, I guess. What does your dad do?"

"He's got a degree in the arts," Piper said automatically. "He's a Cherokee artist."

Piper's response sounded rehearsed.

"Oh." Annabeth didn't look convinced. Piper put the phone away.

"You feeling okay? Want to keep going?"

Annabeth willed for her sword to turn back into a watch, and promised herself she would find out how many types of weapons that could turn into later. "Sure," she said. "I want to see everything."

All the cabins were cool, but none of them struck Piper as hers. No burning signs—wombats or otherwise—appeared over her head.

Cabin Eight was entirely silver and glowed like moonlight.

"Diana?" Annabeth guessed.

"We usually call them by their Greek names, like we call Diana, Artemis. Anyway," Piper continued, "Artemis is goddess of the moon, goddess of hunting. But no campers. Artemis was an eternal maiden, so she doesn't have any kids."

They passed a few cabins and arrived at cabin 6, which was decorated in a mix of classical and modern styles, the entrance was decorated with Greek columns, but the upper floors featured modern tinted glass windows. "Is this where Enstien lived?"

"He was a son of Athena. Here Malcolm's the head counselor."

"Figures. Though it looks like a library inside."

"Never bothered to go in."

"We should keep moving."

They looked at the other cabins, but Annabeth just got more anxious, she felt like she didn't suit to any of the cabins. She was not looking forward to the campfire tonight.

"We started with the twelve Olympian gods," Piper explained. "Male gods on the left, female on the right. Then last year, we added a whole bunch of new cabins for the other gods who didn't have thrones on Olympus—Hecate, Hades, Iris—"

"Are the two big ones at the end Jupiter and Juno?" Annabeth asked.

Piper frowned. "Yeah! Zeus and Hera. King and queen of the gods."

Piper headed that way, and Annabeth followed, though she didn't act very excited. The Zeus cabin reminded Piper of a bank. It was white marble with big columns out front and polished bronze doors emblazoned with lightning bolts.

Hera's cabin was smaller but done in the same style, except the doors were carved with peacock feather designs, shimmering in different colors.

Unlike the other cabins, which were all noisy and open and full of activity, the Zeus and Hera cabins looked ghostly and silent.

"Are they empty?" Annabeth asked.

Piper nodded. "Zeus went a long time without having any children. Well, mostly. Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, the eldest brothers among the gods—they're called the Big Three. Their kids are really powerful, really dangerous. For the last seventy years or so, they tried to avoid having demigod children."

"Tried to avoid it?"

"Sometimes they … um, cheated. I've got a friend, Thalia Grace, who's the daughter of Zeus. But she gave up camp life and became a Hunter of Artemis. My boyfriend, Percy, he's a son of Poseidon. And there's a kid who shows up sometimes, Nico—son of Hades. Except for them, there are no demigod children of the Big Three gods. At least, not that we know of."

"And Juno?" Annabeth looked at the peacock-decorated doors. The cabin bothered her, though she wasn't sure why.

"Goddess of marriage." Piper's tone was carefully controlled, like she was trying to avoid cursing. "She doesn't have kids with anyone but Zeus. So, yeah, no demigods. The cabin's just honorary."

"You're not quite well acquainted with her," Annabeth noticed.

"We have a long history," Piper admitted. "I thought we'd made peace, but when Percy disappeared … I got this weird dream vision from her."

"Telling you to come get us," Annabeth said. "But you thought Percy would be there."

"It's probably better I don't talk about it," Piper said. "I've got nothing good to say about Hera right now."

Annabeth looked down the base of the doors. "So who goes in here?"

"No one. The cabin is just honorary, like I said. No one goes in."

"Someone does." Annabeth pointed at a footprint on the dusty threshold. On instinct, she pushed the doors and they swung open easily.

Piper stepped back. "Um, Annabeth, I don't think we should—"

"We're supposed to do dangerous stuff, right?" And Annabeth walked inside.

Hera's cabin was not someplace Annabeth would want to live. It was as cold as a freezer, with a circle of white columns around a central statue of the goddess, ten feet tall, seated on a throne in flowing golden robes. Piper had always thought of Greek statues as white with blank eyes, but this one was brightly painted so it looked almost human—except huge. Hera's piercing eyes seemed to follow Annabeth.

At the goddess's feet, a fire burned in a bronze brazier. Annabeth wondered who tended it if the cabin was always empty. A stone hawk sat on Hera's shoulder, and in her hand was a staff topped with a lotus flower. The goddess's hair was done in black plaits. Her face smiled, but the eyes were cold and calculating, as if she were saying: Mother knows best. Now don't cross me or I will have to step on you.

There was nothing else in the cabin—no beds, no furniture, no bathroom, no windows, nothing that anyone could actually use to live. For a goddess of home and marriage, Hera's place reminded annabeth of a tomb.

No, she hadn't come in here because she felt a good connection, but because Piper's sense of dread seemed stronger here.

She froze. They weren't alone. Behind the statue, at a little altar in the back, stood a figure covered in a black shawl. Only her hands were visible, palms up. She seemed to be chanting something like a spell or a prayer.

Piper gasped. "Rachel?"

The other girl turned. She dropped her shawl, revealing a mane of curly red hair and a freckled face that didn't go with the seriousness of the cabin or the black shawl at all. She looked about seventeen, a totally normal teen in a green blouse and tattered jeans covered with marker doodles. Despite the cold floor, she was barefoot.

"Hey!" She ran to give Piper a hug. "I'm so sorry! I came as fast as I could."

They talked for a few minutes about Piper's boyfriend and how there was no news, et cetera, until finally Piper remembered Annabeth, who was standing there feeling uncomfortable.

"I'm being rude," Piper apologized. "Rachel, this is Annabeth, one of the half-bloods we rescued today. Annabeth, this is Rachel Elizabeth Dare, our oracle."

"The friend who lives in the cave," Annabeth guessed.

Rachel grinned. "That's me."

"So you're an oracle?" Annabeth asked. "You can tell the future?"

"More like the future mugs me from time to time," Rachel said. "I speak prophecies. The oracle's spirit kind of hijacks me every once in a while and speaks important stuff that doesn't make any sense to anybody. But yeah, the prophecies tell the future."

"Oh." Annabeth shifted from foot to foot. "That's cool."

Rachel laughed. "Don't worry. Everybody finds it a little creepy. Even me. But usually I'm harmless."

"You're a demigod?"

"Nope," Rachel said. "Just mortal."

"Then what are you …" Annabeth waved her hand around the room.

Rachel's smile faded. She glanced at Piper, then back atAnnabeth. "Just a hunch. Something about this cabin and Percy's disappearance. They're connected somehow. I've learned to follow my hunches, especially the last month, since the gods went silent."

"Went silent?" Annabeth asked.

Rachel frowned at Piper. "You haven't told her yet?"

"I was getting to that," Piper said. "Annabeth, for the last month … well, it's normal for the gods not to talk to their children very much, but usually we can count on some messages now and then. Some of us can even visit Olympus. Joshua Frost spent practically all semester at the Empire State Building."

"Excuse me?"

"The entrance to Mount Olympus these days."

"Oh," Piper said. "Sure, why not?"

"Piper was redesigning Olympus after it was damaged in the Titan War," Rachel explained. "Josh's Piper's best friend before Percy came along. He's an amazing architect. You should see the salad bar—"

"Anyway," Piper said, "starting about a month ago, Olympus fell silent. The entrance closed, and no one could get in. Nobody knows why. It's like the gods have sealed themselves off. Even my mom won't answer my prayers, and our camp director, Dionysus, was recalled."

"Your camp director was the god of … wine?"

"Yeah, it's a—"

"Long story," Annabeth guessed. "Right. Go on."

"That's it, really," Piper said. "Demigods still get claimed, but nothing else. No messages. No visits. No sign the gods are even listening. It's like something has happened —something really bad. Then Percy disappeared."

"And Jason and I showed up on Leo's ield trip," Annabeth supplied. "With no memory."

"Who's Jason?" Rachel asked.

"My—" Piper stopped herself before she could say "partner," My acquaintance. But Piper, you said Hera sent you a dream vision."

"Right," Piper said. "The first communication from a god in a month, and it's Hera, the least helpful goddess, and she contacts me, her least favorite demigod. She tells me I'll find out what happened to Percy if I go to the Grand Canyon skywalk and look for a guy with one shoe. Instead, I find you guys, and the guy with one shoe is Jason. It doesn't make sense."

"Something bad is happening," Rachel agreed. She looked at Piper, and Piper felt an overwhelming desire to tell them about her something, to confess that she knew something was happening—at least part of the story. And the bad stuff was only beginning.

"Guys," she said. "I—I need to—"

Before she could continue, Rachel's body stiffened. Her eyes began to glow with a greenish light, and she grabbed Annabeth by the shoulders.

Annabeth tried to break free, but Rachel's hands were like steel clamps.

Free me, she said. But it wasn't Rachel's voice. It sounded like an older woman, speaking from somewhere far away, down a long, echoing pipe. Free me, Annabeth Chase, or the earth shall swallow us. It must be by the solstice.

The room started spinning. Piper tried to separate Annabeth from Rachel, but it was no use. Green smoke enveloped them, and Annabeth was no longer sure if she was awake or dreaming. The giant statue of the goddess seemed to rise from its throne. It leaned over Annabeth, its eyes boring into her. The statue's mouth opened, its breath like horribly thick perfume. It spoke in the same echoing voice: Our enemies stir. The fiery one is only the first. Bow to his will, and their king shall rise, dooming us all. FREE ME!

Annabeth's knees buckled, and everything went black.

**A/N: Here's chapter 4, though I might add some bonus chapters. You saw the explanation for Aegean Silver, Imperial Gold, and Divine Platinum right? Sorry it took so long to write, I had to change quite a lot.**

**Reply to guest review: I will change their personalities, like how Annabeth knows quite a lot about the demigod world, and is quite obedient, disciplined and more of a debater, not a warlord.**

**Switched Quotes 1 - Percy to Annabeth:  
When you put your hand on that hilt, and stabbed me where I stood, I found out the hard way I loved you more than I should. (based on "More Than I Should" by Hunter Hayes)**


	5. LEO: V

LEO'S TOUR WAS GOING GREAT UNTIL he learned about the dragon.

The archer dude, Will Solace, seemed pretty cool. Everything he showed Leo was so amazing, it should've been illegal. Real Greek warships moored at the beach that sometimes had practice fights with flaming arrows and explosives? Sweet! Arts & crafts sessions where you could make sculptures with chain saws and blowtorches? Leo was like, _Sign me up!_ The woods were stocked with dangerous monsters, and no one should ever go in there alone? Nice! And the camp was overflowing with fine-looking girls. Leo didn't quite understand the whole related-to-the-gods business, but he hoped that didn't mean he was cousins with all these ladies. That would suck. At the very least, he wanted to check out those underwater girls in the lake again. They were definitely worth drowning for.

Will showed him the cabins, the dining pavilion, and the sword arena.

"Do I get a sword?" Leo asked.

Will glanced at him like he found the idea disturbing. "You'll probably make your own, seeing as how you're in Cabin Nine."

"Yeah, what's up with that? Vulcan?"

"Usually we don't call the gods by their Roman names," Will said. "The original names are Greek. Your dad is Hephaestus."

"Festus?" Leo had heard somebody say that before, but he was still dismayed. "Sounds like the god of cowboys."

"_He-_phaestus," Will corrected. "God of blacksmiths and fire."

Leo had heard that too, but he was trying not to think about it. The god of fire … seriously? Considering what had happened to his mom, that seemed like a sick joke.

"So the flaming hammer over my head," Leo said. "Good thing, or bad thing?"

Will took a while to answer. "You were claimed almost immediately. That's usually good."

"But that Rainbow Pony dude, Butch—he mentioned a curse."

"Ah … look, it's nothing. Since Cabin Nine's last head counselor died—"

"Died? Like, painfully?"

"I ought to let your bunkmates tell you about it."

"Yeah, where _are_ my home dawgs? Shouldn't their counselor be giving me the VIP tour?"

"He, um, can't. You'll see why." Will forged ahead before Leo could ask anything else.

"Curses and death," Leo said to himself. "This just gets better and better."

He was halfway across the green when he spotted his old babysitter. And she was _not_ the kind of person he expected to see at a demigod camp.

Leo froze in his tracks.

"What's wrong?" Will asked.

Tía Callida—_Auntie_ Callida. That's what she'd called herself, but Leo hadn't seen her since he was five years old. She was just standing there, in the shadow of a big white cabin at the end of the green, watching him. She wore her black linen widow's dress, with a black shawl pulled over her hair. Her face hadn't changed—leathery skin, piercing dark eyes. Her withered hands were like claws. She looked ancient, but no different than Leo remembered.

"That old lady …" Leo said. "What's she doing here?"

Will tried to follow his gaze. "What old lady?"

"Dude, _the_ old lady. The one in black. How many old ladies do you see over there?"

Will frowned. "I think you've had a long day, Leo. The Mist could still be playing tricks on your mind. How about we head straight to your cabin now?"

Leo wanted to protest, but when he looked back toward the big white cabin, Tía Callida was gone. He was _sure_ she'd been there, almost as if thinking about his mom had summoned Callida back from the past.

And that wasn't good, because Tía Callida had tried to kill him.

"Just messing with you, man." Leo pulled some gears and levers from his pockets and started fiddling with them to calm his nerves. He couldn't have everybody at camp thinking he was crazy. At least, not crazier than he really was.

"Let's go see Cabin Nine," he said. "I'm in the mood for a good curse."

From the outside, the Hephaestus cabin looked like an oversize RV with shiny metal walls and metal-slatted windows. The entrance was like a bank vault door, circular and several feet thick. It opened with lots of brass gears turning and hydraulic pistons blowing smoke.

Leo whistled. "They got a steampunk theme going on, huh?"

Inside, the cabin seemed deserted. Steel bunks were folded against the walls like high-tech Murphy beds. Each had a digital control panel, blinking LED lights, glowing gems, and interlocking gears. Leo figured each camper had his own combination lock to release his bed, and there was probably an alcove behind it with storage, maybe some traps to keep out unwanted visitors. At least, that's the way Leo would've designed it. A fire pole came down from the second floor, even though the cabin didn't appear to _have_ a second floor from the outside. A circular staircase led down into some kind of basement. The walls were lined with every kind of power tool Leo could imagine, plus a huge assortment of knives, swords, and other implements of destruction. A large workbench overflowed with scrap metal—screws, bolts, washers, nails, rivets, and a million other machine parts. Leo had a strong urge to shovel them all into his coat pockets. He loved that kind of stuff. But he'd need a hundred more coats to fit it all.

Looking around, he could almost imagine he was back in his mom's machine shop. Not the weapons, maybe—but the tools, the piles of scrap, the smell of grease and metal and hot engines. She would've loved this place.

He pushed that thought away. He didn't like painful memories. _Keep moving—_that was his motto. Don't dwell on things. Don't stay in one place too long. It was the only way to stay ahead of the sadness.

He picked a long implement from the wall. "A weed whacker? What's the god of fire want with a weed whacker?"

A voice in the shadows said, "You'd be surprised."

At the back of the room, one of the bunk beds was occupied. A curtain of dark camouflage material retracted, and Leo could see the guy who'd been invisible a second before. It was hard to tell much about him because he was covered in a body cast. His head was wrapped in gauze except for his face, which was puffy and bruised. He looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy after a beat-down.

"I'm Jake Mason," the guy said. "I'd shake your hand, but …"

"Yeah," Leo said. "Don't get up."

The guy cracked a smile, then winced like it hurt to move his face. Leo wondered what had happened to him, but he was afraid to ask.

"Welcome to Cabin Nine," Jake said. "Been almost a year since we had any new kids. I'm head counselor for now."

"For now?" Leo asked.

Will Solace cleared his throat. "So where is everybody, Jake?"

"Down at the forges," Jake said wistfully. "They're working on … you know, that problem."

"Oh." Will changed the subject. "So, you got a spare bed for Leo?"

Jake studied Leo, sizing him up. "You believe in curses, Leo? Or ghosts?"

I just saw my evil babysitter Tía Callida, Leo thought. She's _got_ to be dead after all these years. And I can't go a day without remembering my mom in that machine shop fire. Don't talk to me about ghosts, doughboy.

But aloud, he said, "Ghosts? Pfft. Nah. I'm cool. A storm spirit chucked me down the Grand Canyon this morning, but you know, all in a day's work, right?"

Jake nodded. "That's good. Because I'll give you the best bed in the cabin—Beckendorf's."

"Whoa, Jake," Will said. "You sure?"

Jake called out: "Bunk 1-A, please."

The whole cabin rumbled. A circular section of the floor spiraled open like a camera lens, and a full-size bed popped up. The bronze frame had a built-in game station at the footboard, a stereo system in the headboard, a glass-door refrigerator mounted into the base, and a whole bunch of control panels running down the side.

Leo jumped right in and lay back with arms behind his head. "I can handle this."

"It retracts into a private room below," Jake said.

"Oh, heck, yes," Leo said. "See y'all. I'll be down in the Leo Cave. Which button do I press?"

"Hold on," Will Solace protested. "You guys have private underground rooms?"

Jake probably would've smiled if it didn't hurt so much. "We got lots of secrets, Will. You Apollo guys can't have all the fun. Our campers have been excavating the tunnel system under Cabin Nine for almost a century. We still haven't found the end. Anyway, Leo, if you don't mind sleeping in a dead man's bed, it's yours."

Suddenly Leo didn't feel like kicking back. He sat up, careful not to touch any of the buttons. "The counselor who died—this was his bed?"

"Yeah," Jake said. "Charles Beckendorf."

Leo imagined saw blades coming through the mattress, or maybe a grenade sewn inside the pillows. "He didn't, like, die _in_ this bed, did he?"

"No," Jake said. "In the Titan War, last summer."

"The Titan War," Leo repeated, "which has _nothing_ to do with this very fine bed?"

"The Titans," Will said, like Leo was an idiot. "The big powerful guys that ruled the world before the gods. They tried to make a comeback last summer. Their leader, Kronos, built a new palace on top of Mount Tam in California. Their armies came to New York and almost destroyed Mount Olympus. A lot of demigods died trying to stop them."

"I'm guessing this wasn't on the news?" Leo said.

It seemed like a fair question, but Will shook his head in disbelief. "You didn't hear about Mount St. Helens erupting, or the freak storms across the country, or that building collapsing in St. Louis?"

Leo shrugged. Last summer, he'd been on the run from another foster home. Then a truancy officer caught him in New Mexico, and the court sentenced him to the nearest correctional facility—the Wilderness School. "Guess I was busy."

"Doesn't matter," Jake said. "You were lucky to miss it. The thing is, Beckendorf was one of the first casualties, and ever since then—"

"Your cabin's been cursed," Leo guessed.

Jake didn't answer. Then again, the dude was in a body cast. That _was_ an answer. Leo started noticing little things that he hadn't seen before—an explosion mark on the wall, a stain on the floor that might've been oil … or blood. Broken swords and smashed machines kicked into the corners of the room, maybe out of frustration. The place _did_ feel unlucky.

Jake sighed halfheartedly. "Well, I should get some sleep. I hope you like it here, Leo. It used to be … really nice."

He closed his eyes, and the camouflage curtain drew itself across the bed.

"Come on, Leo," Will said. "I'll take you to the forges."

As they were leaving, Leo looked back at his new bed, and he could almost imagine a dead counselor sitting there—another ghost who wasn't going to leave Leo alone.


	6. LEO: VI

"HOW DID HE DIE?" LEO ASKED. "I mean Beckendorf."

Will Solace trudged ahead. "Explosion. Beckendorf and Percy Jackson blew up a cruise ship full of monsters. Beckendorf didn't make it out."

There was that name again—Percy Jackson, Piper's missing boyfriend. That guy must've been into everything around here, Leo thought.

"So Beckendorf was pretty popular?" Leo asked. "I mean —before he blew up?"

"He was awesome," Will agreed. "It was hard on the whole camp when he died. Jake—he became head counselor in the middle of the war. Same as I did, actually. Jake did his best, but he never wanted to be leader. He just likes building stuff. Then after the war, things started to go wrong. Cabin Nine's chariots blew up. Their automatons went haywire. Their inventions started to malfunction. It was like a curse, and eventually people started calling it that—the Curse of Cabin Nine. Then Jake had his accident—"

"Which had something to do with the problem he mentioned," Leo guessed.

"They're working on it," Will said without enthusiasm. "And here we are."

The forge looked like a steam-powered locomotive had smashed into the Greek Parthenon and they had fused together. White marble columns lined the soot-stained walls. Chimneys pumped smoke over an elaborate gable carved with a bunch of gods and monsters. The building sat at the edge of a stream, with several waterwheels turning a series of bronze gears. Leo heard machinery grinding inside, fires roaring, and hammers ringing on anvils.

They stepped through the doorway, and a dozen guys and girls who'd been working on various projects all froze. The noise died down to the roar of the forge and the click-click-click of gears and levers.

"'Sup, guys," Will said. "This is your new brother, Leo—um, what's your last name?"

"Valdez." Leo looked around at the other campers. Was he really related to all of them? His cousins came from some big families, but he'd always just had his mom—until she died.

Kids came up and started shaking hands and introducing themselves. Their names blurred together: Shane, Christopher, Nyssa, Harley (yeah, like the motorcycle). Leo knew he'd never keep everybody straight. Too many of them. Too overwhelming.

None of them looked like the others—all different face types, skin tone, hair color, height. You'd never think, Hey, look, it's the Hephaestus Bunch! But they all had powerful hands, rough with calluses and stained with engine grease. Even little Harley, who couldn't have been more than eight, looked like he could go six rounds with Chuck Norris without breaking a sweat.

And all the kids shared a sad kind of seriousness. Their shoulders slumped like life had beaten them down pretty hard. Several looked like they'd been physically beaten up, too. Leo counted two arm slings, one pair of crutches, an eye patch, six Ace bandages, and about seven thousand Band-Aids.

"Well, all right!" Leo said. "I hear this is the party cabin!"

Nobody laughed. They all just stared at him.

Will Solace patted Leo's shoulder. "I'll leave you guys to get acquainted. Somebody show Leo to dinner when it's time?"

"I got it," one of the girls said. Nyssa, Leo remembered. She wore camo pants, a tank top that showed off her buffarms, and a red bandanna over a mop of dark hair. Except for the smiley-face Band-Aid on her chin, she looked like one of those female action heroes, like any second she was going to grab a machine gun and start mowing down evil aliens.

"Cool," Leo said. "I always wanted a sister who could beat me up."

Nyssa didn't smile. "Come on, joker boy. I'll show you around."

Leo was no stranger to workshops. He'd grown up around grease monkeys and power tools. His mom used to joke that his first pacifier was a lug wrench. But he'd never seen any place like the camp forge.

One guy was working on a battle-ax. He kept testing the blade on a slab of concrete. Each time he swung, the ax cut into the slab like it was warm cheese, but the guy looked unsatisfied and went back to honing the edge.

"What's he planning to kill with that thing?" Leo asked Nyssa. "A battleship?"

"You never know. Even with Celestial bronze—"

"That's the metal?"

She nodded. "Mined from Mount Olympus itself. Extremely rare. Anyway, it usually disintegrates monsters on contact, but big powerful ones have notoriously tough hides. Drakons, for instances—"

"You mean dragons?"

"Similar species. You'll learn the difference in monster-fighting class."

"Monster-fighting class. Yeah, I already got my black belt in that."

She didn't crack a smile. Leo hoped she wasn't this serious all the time. His dad's side of the family had to have some sense of humor, right?

They passed a couple of guys making a bronze windup toy. At least that's what it looked like. It was a six-inch-tall centaur—half man, half horse—armed with a miniature bow. One of the campers cranked the centaur's tail, and it whirred to life. It galloped across the table, yelling, "Die, mosquito! Die, mosquito!" and shooting everything in sight.

Apparently this had happened before, because everybody knew to hit the floor except Leo. Six needle-sized arrows embedded themselves in his shirt before a camper grabbed a hammer and smashed the centaur to pieces.

"Stupid curse!" The camper waved his hammer at the sky. "I just want a magic bug killer! Is that too much to ask?"

"Ouch," Leo said.

Nyssa pulled the needles out of his shirt. "Ah, you're fine. Let's move on before they rebuild it."

Leo rubbed his chest as they walked. "That sort of thing happen a lot?"

"Lately," Nyssa said, "everything we build turns to junk."

"The curse?"

Nyssa frowned. "I don't believe in curses. But something's wrong. And if we don't figure out the dragon problem, it's gonna get even worse."

"The dragon problem?" Leo hoped she was talking about a miniature dragon, maybe one that killed cockroaches, but he got the feeling he wasn't going to be so lucky.

Nyssa took him over to a big wall map that a couple of girls were studying. The map showed the camp—a semicircle of land with Long Island Sound on the north shore, the woods to the west, the cabins to the east, and a ring of hills to the south.

"It's got to be in the hills," the first girl said.

"We looked in the hills," the second argued. "The woods are a better hiding place."

"But we already set traps—"

"Hold up," Leo said. "You guys lost a dragon? A real full-size dragon?"

"It's a bronze dragon," Nyssa said. "But yes, it's a life-size automaton. Hephaestus cabin built it years ago. Then it was lost in the woods until a few summers back, when Beckendorf found it in pieces and rebuilt it. It's been helping protect the camp, but, um, it's a little unpredictable."

"Unpredictable," Leo said.

"It goes haywire and smashes down cabins, sets people on fire, tries to eat the satyrs."

"That's pretty unpredictable."

Nyssa nodded. "Beckendorf was the only one who could control it. Then he died, and the dragon just got worse and worse. Finally it went berserk and ran off. Occasionally it shows up, demolishes something, and runs away again. Everyone expects us to find it and destroy it—"

"Destroy it?" Leo was appalled. "You've got a life-size bronze dragon, and you want to destroy it?"

"It breathes fire," Nyssa explained. "It's deadly and out of control."

"But it's a dragon! Dude, that's so awesome. Can't you try talking to it, controlling it?"

"We tried. Jake Mason tried. You saw how well that worked."

Leo thought about Jake, wrapped in a body cast, lying alone on his bunk. "Still—"

"There's no other option." Nyssa turned to the other girls. "Let's try more traps in the woods—here, here, and here. Bait them with thirty-weight motor oil."

"The dragon drinks that?" Leo asked.

"Yeah." Nyssa sighed regretfully. "He used to like it with a little Tabasco sauce, right before bed. If he springs a trap, we can come in with acid sprayers—should melt through his hide. Then we get metal cutters and … and finish the job."

They all looked sad. Leo realized they didn't want to kill the dragon any more than he did.

"Guys," he said. "There has to be another way."

Nyssa looked doubtful, but a few other campers stopped what they were working on and drifted over to hear the conversation.

"Like what?" one asked. "The thing breathes fire. We can't even get close."

Fire, Leo thought. Oh, man, the things he could tell them about fire… But he had to be careful, even if these were his brothers and sisters. Especially if he had to live with them.

"Well …" He hesitated. "Hephaestus is the god of fire, right? So don't any of you have like fire resistance or something?"

Nobody acted as if it was a crazy question, which was a relief, but Nyssa shook her head gravely.

"That's a Cyclops ability, Leo. Demigod children of Hephaestus … we're just good with our hands. We're builders, craftsmen, weaponsmiths—stuff like that."

Leo's shoulders slumped. "Oh."

A guy in back said, "Well, a long time ago—"

"Yeah, okay," Nyssa conceded. "A long time ago some children of Hephaestus were born with power over fire. But that ability was very, very rare. And always dangerous. No demigod like that has been born in centuries. The last one …" She looked at one of the other kids for help.

"Sixteen sixty-six," the girl offered. "Guy named Thomas Faynor. He started the Great Fire of London, destroyed most of the city."

"Right," Nyssa said. "When a child of Hephaestus like that appears, it usually means something catastrophic is about to happen. And we don't need any more catastrophes."

Leo tried to keep his face clear of emotion, which wasn't his strong suit. "I guess I see your point. Too bad, though. If you could resist flames, you could get close to the dragon."

"Then it would kill you with its claws and fangs," Nyssa said. "Or simply step on you. No, we've got to destroy it. Trust me, if anyone could figure out another answer …"

She didn't finish, but Leo got the message. This was the cabin's big test. If they could do something only Beckendorf could do, if they could subdue the dragon without killing it, then maybe their curse would be lifted. But they were stumped for ideas. Any camper who figured out how would be a hero.

A conch horn blew in the distance. Campers started putting up their tools and projects. Leo hadn't realized it was getting so late, but he looked through the windows and saw the sun going down. His ADHD did that to him sometimes. If he was bored, a fifty-minute class seemed like six hours. If he was interested in something, like touring a demigod camp, hours slipped away and bam—the day was over.

"Dinner," Nyssa said. "Come on, Leo."

"Up at the pavilion, right?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You guys go ahead," Leo said. "Can you … give me a second?"

Nyssa hesitated. Then her expression softened. "Sure. It's a lot to process. I remember my first day. Come up when you're ready. Just don't touch anything. Almost every project in here can kill you if you're not careful."

"No touching," Leo promised.

His cabinmates filed out of the forge. Soon Leo was alone with the sounds of the bellows, the waterwheels, and small machines clicking and whirring.

He stared at the map of camp—the locations where his newfound siblings were going to put traps to catch a dragon. It was wrong. Plain wrong.

Very rare, he thought. And always dangerous.

He held out his hand and studied his fingers. They were long and thin, not callused like the other Hephaestus campers'. Leo had never been the biggest or the strongest kid. He'd survived in tough neighborhoods, tough schools, tough foster homes by using his wits. He was the class clown, the court jester, because he'd learned early that if you cracked jokes and pretended you weren't scared, you usually didn't get beat up. Even the baddest gangster kids would tolerate you, keep you around for laughs. Plus, humor was a good way to hide the pain. And if that didn't work, there was always Plan B. Run away. Over and over.

There was a Plan C, but he'd promised himself never to use it again.

He felt an urge to try it now—something he hadn't done since the accident, since his mom's death.

He extended his fingers and felt them tingle, like they were waking up—pins and needles. Then flames flickered to life, curls of red-hot fire dancing across his palm.

**A/N: Sorry I didn't change anything here, and in the last chapter. Because there's nothing to change, just maybe a few names, that's all. Though in Jason's POV in the next few chapters, there will be something different.**


	7. JASON: VII

AS SOON AS JASON SAW THE HOUSE, he knew he was a dead man.

"Here we are!" Malcolm said cheerfully. "The Big House, camp headquarters."

It didn't look threatening, just a four-story manor painted baby blue with white trim. The wraparound porch had lounge chairs, a card table, and an empty wheelchair. Wind chimes shaped like nymphs turned into trees as they spun. Jason could imagine old people coming here for summer vacation, sitting on the porch and sipping prune juice while they watched the sunset. Still, the windows seemed to glare down at him like angry eyes. The wide-open doorway looked ready to swallow him. On the highest gable, a bronze eagle weathervane spun in the wind and pointed straight in his direction, as if telling him to turn around.

Every molecule in Jason's body told him he was on enemy ground.

"I am _not_ supposed to be here," he said.

Malcolm put his arm on Jason's shoulder. "Oh, please. You're _perfect_ here, mister. Believe me, I've seen a lot of heroes."

He slipped his arm away as gently as he could. "Look, I appreciate—"

"Is it that girl?" Malcolm pouted. "Oh, please, tell me you are _not_ dating the Wannabe Enstien."

"You mean Annabeth? Um …"

Jason wasn't sure how to answer. He didn't think he'd ever seen Annabeth before today, but he felt strangely guilty about it. He knew he shouldn't be in this place. He shouldn't befriend these people, and certainly he shouldn't date one of them. Still … Annabeth had been as confused as he was when he woke up on that bus. She'd been brave on the skywalk, fighting those _venti_, and when Jason had caught her in midair and they'd held each other face-to-face, he couldn't pretend he wasn't a little tempted to kiss her. But that wasn't right. He didn't even know his own story, and neither was she. He couldn't play with her emotions like that.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Let me help you decide, pal. You can do better. A guy with your looks and obvious talent?"

He wasn't looking at him, though. He was staring at a spot right above his head.

"You're waiting for a sign," he guessed. "Like what popped over Leo's head."

"What? No! Well … yes. I mean, from what I heard, you're pretty powerful, right? You're going to be important at camp, so I figure your parent will claim you right away. And I'd love to see that. I wanna be with you every step of the way! So is your dad or mom the god? Please tell me it's not your mom. I would hate it if you were an _Athena_ kid."

"Why?"

"Then you'd be my half brother, silly. You can't date somebody from your own cabin. Yuck!"

"But aren't all the gods related?" Jason asked. "So isn't everyone here your cousin or something?"

"Aren't you smart! Pal, the godly side of your family doesn't count except for your parent. So anybody from another cabin—they're fair game. So who's your godly parent—mom or dad?"

As usual, Jason didn't have an answer. He looked up, but no glowing sign popped above his head. At the top of the Big House, the weathervane was still pointing his direction, that bronze eagle glaring as if to say, _Turn around, kid, while you still can._

Then he heard footsteps on the front porch. No—not footsteps—_hooves_.

"Chiron!" Malcolm called. "This is Jason. He's totally cool!"

Jason backed up so fast he almost tripped. Rounding the corner of the porch was a man on horseback. Except he wasn't on horseback—he was part of the horse. From the waist up he was human, with curly brown hair and a well-trimmed beard. He wore a T-shirt that said _World's Best Centaur_, and had a quiver and bow strapped to his back. His head was so high up he had to duck to avoid the porch lights, because from the waist down, he was a white stallion.

Chiron started to smile at Jason. Then the color drained from his face.

"You …" The centaur's eyes flared like a cornered animal's. "You should be dead."

Chiron ordered Jason—well, _invited_, but it sounded like an order—to come inside the house. He told Malcolm to go back to his cabin, which Malcolm didn't look happy about.

The centaur trotted over to the empty wheelchair on the porch. He slipped off his quiver and bow and backed up to the chair, which opened like a magician's box. Chiron gingerly stepped into it with his back legs and began scrunching himself into a space that should've been much too small. Jason imagined a truck's reversing noises—_beep, beep, beep—_as the centaur's lower half disappeared and the chair folded up, popping out a set of fake human legs covered in a blanket, so Chiron appeared to be a regular mortal guy in a wheelchair.

"Follow me," he ordered. "We have soda."

The living room looked like it had been swallowed by a rain forest. Grapevines curved up the walls and across the ceiling, which Jason found a little strange. He didn't think plants grew like that inside, especially in the winter, but these were leafy green and bursting with bunches of red grapes.

Leather couches faced a stone fireplace with a crackling fire. Wedged in one corner, an old-style Pac-Man arcade game beeped and blinked. Mounted on the walls was an assortment of masks—smiley/frowny Greek theater types, feathered Mardi Gras masks, Venetian _Carnevale_ masks with big beaklike noses, carved wooden masks from Africa. Grapevines grew through their mouths so they seemed to have leafy tongues. Some had red grapes bulging through their eyeholes.

But the weirdest thing was the stuffed leopard's head above the fireplace. It looked so real, its eyes seemed to follow Jason. Then it snarled, and Jason nearly leaped out of his skin.

"Now, Seymour," Chiron chided. "Jason is a friend. Behave yourself."

"That thing is alive!" Jason said.

Chiron rummaged through the side pocket of his wheelchair and brought out a package of Snausages. He threw one to the leopard, who snapped it up and licked his lips.

"You must excuse the décor," Chiron said. "All this was a parting gift from our old director before he was recalled to Mount Olympus. He thought it would help us to remember him. Mr. D has a strange sense of humor."

"Mr. D," Jason said. "Dionysus?"

"Mmm hmm." Chiron poured lemonade, though his hands were trembling a little. "As for Seymour, well, Mr. D liberated him from a Long Island garage sale. The leopard is Mr. D's sacred animal, you see, and Mr. D was appalled that someone would stuff such a noble creature. He decided to grant it life, on the assumption that life as a mounted head was better than no life at all. I must say it's a kinder fate than Seymour's previous owner got."

Seymour bared his fangs and sniffed the air, as if hunting for more Snausages.

"If he's only a head," Jason said, "where does the food go when he eats?"

"Better not to ask," Chiron said. "Please, sit."

Jason took some lemonade, though his stomach was fluttering. Chiron sat back in his wheelchair and tried for a smile, but Jason could tell it was forced. The old man's eyes were as deep and dark as wells.

"So, Jason," he said, "would you mind telling me—ah—where you're from?"

"I wish I knew." Jason told him the whole story, from waking up on the bus to crash-landing at Camp Half-Blood. He didn't see any point in hiding the details, and Chiron was a good listener. He didn't react to the story, other than to nod encouragingly for more.

When Jason was done, the old man sipped his lemonade.

"I see," Chiron said. "And you must have questions for me."

"Only one," Jason admitted. "What did you mean when you said that I should be dead?"

Chiron studied him with concern, as if he expected Jason to burst into flames. "My boy, do you know what those marks on your arm mean? The color of your shirt? Do you remember anything?"

Jason looked at the tattoo on his forearm: SPQR, the eagle, twelve straight lines.

"No," he said. "Absolutely nothing."

"Do you know where you are?" Chiron asked. "Do you understand what this place is, and who I am?"

"You're Chiron the centaur," Jason said. "I'm guessing you're the same one from the old stories, who used to train the great heroes like Hercules. This is a camp for demigods, children of the Olympian gods."

"So you believe those gods still exist?"

"Yes," Jason said immediately. "I mean, I don't think we should _worship_ them or sacrifice animals to them or anything, but they're still around because they're a powerful part of civilization. They move from country to country as the center of power shifts—like they moved from Ancient Greece to Rome."

"_I couldn't have said it better."_ Something about Chiron's voice had changed. _"So you already know the gods are real. You have already been claimed, haven't you?"_

"_Maybe,"_ Jason answered. _"I'm not really sure."_

Seymour the leopard snarled.

Chiron waited, and Jason realized what had just happened. The centaur had switched to another language and Jason had understood, automatically answering in the same tongue.

"_Quis erat—"_ Jason faltered, then made a conscious effort to speak English. "What was that?"

"You know Latin," Chiron observed. "Most demigods recognize a few phrases, of course. It's in their blood, but not as much as Ancient Greek. None can speak Latin fluently without practice."

Jason tried to wrap his mind around what that meant, but too many pieces were missing from his memory. He still had the feeling that he shouldn't be here. It was wrong—and dangerous. But at least Chiron wasn't threatening. In fact the centaur seemed concerned for him, afraid for his safety.

The fire reflected in Chiron's eyes, making them dance fretfully. "I taught your namesake, you know, the original Jason. He had a hard path. I've seen many heroes come and go. Occasionally, they have happy endings. Mostly, they don't. It breaks my heart, like losing a child each time one of my pupils dies. But you—you are not like any pupil I've ever taught. Your presence here could be a disaster."

"_Thanks_," Jason said. "You must be an inspiring teacher."

"I am sorry, my boy. But it's true. I had hoped that after Percy's success—"

"Percy Jackson, you mean. Annabeth's boyfriend, the one who's missing."

Chiron nodded. "I hoped that after he succeeded in the Titan War and saved Mount Olympus, we might have some peace. I might be able to enjoy one final triumph, a happy ending, and perhaps retire quietly. I should have known better. The last chapter approaches, just as it did before. The worst is yet to come."

In the corner, the arcade game made a sad _pew-pew-pew-pew_ sound, like a Pac-Man had just died.

"Ohh-kay," Jason said. "So—last chapter, happened before, worst yet to come. Sounds fun, but can we go back to the part where I'm supposed to be dead? I don't like that part."

"I'm afraid I can't explain, my boy. I swore on the River Styx and on all things sacred that I would never …" Chiron frowned. "But you're here, in violation of the same oath. That too, should not be possible. I don't understand. Who would've done such a thing? Who—"

Seymour the leopard howled. His mouth froze, half open. The arcade game stopped beeping. The fire stopped crackling, its flames hardening like red glass. The masks stared down silently at Jason with their grotesque grape eyes and leafy tongues.

"Chiron?" Jason asked. "What's going—"

The old centaur had frozen, too. Jason jumped off the couch, but Chiron kept staring at the same spot, his mouth open mid-sentence. His eyes didn't blink. His chest didn't move.

_Jason_, a voice said.

For a horrible moment, he thought the leopard had spoken. Then dark mist boiled out of Seymour's mouth, and an even worse thought occurred to Jason: _storm spirits_.

He grabbed the golden coin from his pocket. With a quick flip, it changed into a sword.

The mist took the form of a woman in black robes. Her face was hooded, but her eyes glowed in the darkness. Over her shoulders she wore a goatskin cloak. Jason wasn't sure how he knew it was goatskin, but he recognized it and knew it was important.

_Would you attack your patron?_ the woman chided. Her voice echoed in Jason's head. _Lower your sword._

"Who are you?" he demanded. "How did you—"

_Our time is limited, Jason. My prison grows stronger by the hour. It took me a full month to gather enough energy to work even the smallest magic through its bonds. I've managed to bring you here, but now I have little time left, and even less power. This may be the last time I can speak to you._

"You're in prison?" Jason decided maybe he wouldn't lower his sword. "Look, I don't know you, and you're not my patron."

_You know me_, she insisted. _I have known you since your birth._

"I don't remember. I don't remember anything."

_No, you don't,_ she agreed. _That also was necessary. Long ago, your father gave me your life as a gift to placate my anger. He named you Jason, after my favorite mortal. You belong to me._

"Whoa," Jason said. "I don't belong to anyone."

_Now is the time to pay your debt,_ she said. _Find my prison. Free me_, _or their king will rise from the earth, and I will be destroyed. You will never retrieve your memory._

"Is that a threat? You _took_ my memories?"

_No, you should say "You took our memories" but _

_you have until sunset on the solstice, Jason. Four short days. Do not fail me. And the message goes the same for your partner Cato._

The dark woman dissolved, and the mist curled into the leopard's mouth.

Time unfroze. Seymour's howl turned into a cough like he'd sucked in a hair ball. The fire crackled to life, the arcade machine beeped, and Chiron said, "—would dare to bring you here?"

"Probably the lady in the mist," Jason offered.

Chiron looked up in surprise. "Weren't you just sitting … why do you have a sword drawn?"

"I hate to tell you this," Jason said, "but I think your leopard just ate a goddess."

He told Chiron about the frozen-in-time visit, the dark misty figure that disappeared into Seymour's mouth.

"Oh, dear," Chiron murmured. "That does explain a lot."

"Then why don't you explain a lot to me?" Jason said. "Please."

Before Chiron could say anything, footsteps reverberated on the porch outside. The front door blew open, and Piper and another girl, a redhead, burst in, dragging Annabeth between them. Annabeth's head lolled like she was unconscious.

"What happened?" Jason rushed over. "What's wrong with her?"

"Hera's cabin," Piper gasped, like they'd run all the way. "Vision. Bad."

The redheaded girl looked up, and Jason saw that she'd been crying.

"I think …" The redheaded girl gulped. "I think I may have killed her."

**A/N: Annabeth's Roman name is Cato, it means wise; and for Jason it's Aquila, meaning eagle. You can check more of the information on the series on my profile, also it is constantly updated. Sorry it didn't update for a while.**

**Reply to Percabeth 4eva1: I appreciate you writing a **_**Years After**_** thing, but that's not what I had planned it to be like. I might write an ending (to the whole series) in a different way.**

**Message to Everyone: Happy April Fools Day!**


	8. JASON: VIII

JASON AND THE REDHEAD, WHO INTRODUCED herself as Rachel, put Annabeth on the couch while Piper rushed down the hall to get a med kit. Annabeth was still breathing, but she wouldn't wake up. She seemed to be in some kind of coma.

"We've got to heal her," Jason insisted. "There's a way, right?"

Seeing her so pale, barely breathing, Jason felt a surge of protectiveness. Maybe he didn't really know her. Maybe she wasn't his partner. But they'd survived the Grand Canyon together. They'd come all this way. He'd left her side for a little while, and this had happened.

Chiron put his hand on her forehead and grimaced. "Her mind is in a fragile state. Rachel, what happened?"

"I wish I knew," she said. "As soon as I got to camp, I had a premonition about Hera's cabin. I went inside. Piper and Annabeth came in while I was there. We talked, and then—I just blanked out. Piper said I spoke in a different voice."

"A prophecy?" Chiron asked.

"No. The spirit of Delphi comes from within. I know how that feels. This was like long distance, a power trying to speak through me."

Piper ran in with a leather pouch. She knelt next to Annabeth. "Chiron, what happened back there—I've never seen anything like it. I've heard Rachel's prophecy voice. This was different. She sounded like an older woman. She grabbed Piper's shoulders and told her—"

"To free her from a prison?" Jason guessed.

Piper stared at him. "How did you know that?"

Chiron made a three-fingered gesture over his heart, like a ward against evil.

"Jason, tell them. Piper, the medicine bag, please."

Chiron trickled drops from a medicine vial into Piper's mouth while Jason explained what had happened when the room froze—the dark misty woman who had claimed to be Jason's patron.

When he was done, no one spoke, which made him more anxious.

"So does this happen often?" he asked. "Supernatural phone calls from convicts demanding you bust them out of jail?"

"Your patron," Piper said. "Not your godly parent?"

"No, she said patron. She also said my dad had given her my life."

Piper frowned. "I've never of heard anything like that before. You said the storm spirit on the skywalk—he claimed to be working for some mistress who was giving him orders, right? Could it be this woman you saw, messing with your mind?"

"I don't think so," Jason said. "If she were my enemy, why would she be asking for my help? She's imprisoned. She's worried about some enemy getting more powerful. Something about a king rising from the earth on the solstice—"

Piper turned to Chiron. "Not Kronos. Please tell me it's not that."

The centaur looked miserable. He held Piper's wrist, checking her pulse.

At last he said, "It is not Kronos. That threat is ended. But …"

"But what?" Piper asked.

Chiron closed the medicine bag. "Annabeth needs rest. We should discuss this later."

"Or now," Jason said. "Sir, Mr. Chiron, you told me the greatest threat was coming. The last chapter. You can't possibly mean something worse than an army of Titans, right?"

"Oh," Rachel said in a small voice. "Oh, dear. The woman was Hera. Of course. Her cabin, her voice. She showed herself to Jason at the same moment."

"Hera?" Piper's snarl was even fiercer than Seymour's. "She took you over? She did this to Piper?"

"I think Rachel's right," Jason said. "The woman did seem like a goddess. And she wore this—this goatskin cloak. That's a symbol of Juno, isn't it?"

"It is?" Piper scowled. "I've never heard that."

Chiron nodded reluctantly. "Of Juno, Hera's Roman aspect, in her most warlike state. The goatskin cloak was a symbol of the Roman soldier."

"So Hera is imprisoned?" Rachel asked. "Who could do that to the queen of the gods?"

Piper crossed her arms. "Well, whoever they are, maybe we should thank them. If they can shut up Hera—"

"Piper," Chiron warned, "she is still one of the Olympians. In many ways, she is the glue that holds the gods' family together. If she truly has been imprisoned and is in danger of destruction, this could shake the foundations of the world. It could unravel the stability of Olympus, which is never great even in the best of times. And if Hera has asked Jason for help—"

"Fine," Piper grumbled. "Well, we know Titans can capture a god, right? Atlas captured Artemis a few years ago. And in the old stories, the gods captured each other in traps all the time. But something worse than a Titan … ?"

Jason looked at the leopard's head. Seymour was smacking his lips like the goddess had tasted much better than a Snausage. "Hera said she'd been trying to break through her prison bonds for a month."

"Which is how long Olympus has been closed," Piper said. "So the gods must know something bad is going on."

"But why use her energy to send me here?" Jason asked. "She wiped my memory, plopped me into the Wilderness School field trip, and sent you a dream vision to come pick me up. Why am I so important? Why not just send up an emergency flare to the other gods—let them know where she is so they bust her out?"

"The gods need heroes to do their will down here on earth," Rachel said. "That's right, isn't it? Their fates are always intertwined with demigods."

"That's true," Piper said, "but Jason's got a point. Why him? Why take his memory?"

"And Piper's involved somehow," Rachel said. "Hera sent her the same message—Free me. And, Piper, this must have something to do with Percy's disappearing."

Piper fixed her eyes on Chiron. "Why are you so quiet, Chiron? What is it we're facing?"

The old centaur's face looked like it had aged ten years in a matter of minutes. The lines around his eyes were deeply etched. "My dear, in this, I cannot help you. I am so sorry."

Piper blinked. "You've never … you've never kept information from me. Even the last great prophecy—"

"I will be in my office." His voice was heavy. "I need some time to think before dinner. Rachel, will you watch the girl? Call Argus to bring her to the infirmary, if you'd like. And Piper, you should speak with Jason. Tell him about—about the Greek and Roman gods."

"But …"

The centaur turned his wheelchair and rolled off down the hallway. Piper's eyes turned stormy. She muttered something in Greek, and Jason got the feeling it wasn't complimentary toward centaurs.

"I'm sorry," Jason said. "I think my being here—I don't know. I've messed things up coming to the camp, somehow. Chiron said he'd sworn an oath and couldn't talk about it."

"What oath?" Piper demanded. "I've never seen him act this way. And why would he tell me to talk to you about the gods..."

Her voice trailed off. Apparently she'd just noticed Jason's sword sitting on the coffee table. She touched the blade gingerly, like it might be hot.

"Is this gold?" she said. "Do you remember where you got it?"

"No," Jason said. "Like I said, I don't remember anything."

Piper nodded, like she'd just come up with a rather desperate plan. "If Chiron won't help, we'll need to figure things out ourselves. Which means … Cabin Fifteen. Rachel, you'll keep an eye on Piper?"

"Sure," Rachel promised. "Good luck, you two."

"Hold on," Jason said. "What's in Cabin Fifteen?"

Piper stood. "Maybe a way to get your memory back."

They headed toward a newer wing of cabins in the southwest corner of the green. Some were fancy, with glowing walls or blazing torches, but Cabin Fifteen was not so dramatic. It looked like an old-fashioned prairie house with mud walls and a rush roof. On the door hung a wreath of crimson flowers—red poppies, Jason thought, though he wasn't sure how he knew.

"You think this is my parent's cabin?" he asked.

"No," Piper said. "This is the cabin for Hypnos, the god of sleep."

"Then why—"

"You've forgotten everything," she said. "If there's any god who can help us figure out memory loss, it's Hypnos."

Inside, even though it was almost dinnertime, three kids were sound asleep under piles of covers. A warm fire crackled in the hearth. Above the mantel hung a tree branch, each twig dripping white liquid into a collection of tin bowls. Jason was tempted to catch a drop on his finger just to see what it was, but he held himself back.

Soft violin music played from somewhere. The air smelled like fresh laundry. The cabin was so cozy and peaceful that Jason's eyelids started to feel heavy. A nap sounded like a great idea. He was exhausted. There were plenty of empty beds, all with feather pillows and fresh sheets and fluffy quilts and—Piper nudged him. "Snap out of it."

Jason yawned. He realized his knees had been starting to buckle.

"Cabin Fifteen does that to everyone," Piper warned. "If you ask me, this place is even more dangerous than the Ares cabin. At least with Ares, you can learn where the land mines are."

"Land mines?"

She walked up to the nearest snoring kid and shook his shoulder. "Clovis! Wake up!"

The kid looked like a baby cow. He had a blond tuft of hair on a wedge-shaped head, with thick features and a thick neck. His body was stocky, but he had spindly little arms like he'd never lifted anything heavier than a pillow.

"Clovis!" Piper shook harder, then finally knocked on his forehead about six times.

"Wh-wh-what?" Clovis complained, sitting up and squinting. He yawned hugely, and both Piper and Jason yawned too.

"Stop that!" Piper said. "We need your help."

"I was sleeping."

"You're always sleeping."

"Good night."

Before he could pass out, Piper yanked his pillow off the bed.

"That's not fair," Clovis complained meekly. "Give it back."

"First help," Piper said. "Then sleep."

Clovis sighed. His breath smelled like warm milk. "Fine. What?"

Piper explained about Jason's problem. Every once in a while she'd snap her fingers under Clovis's nose to keep him awake.

Clovis must have been really excited, because when Piper was done, he didn't pass out. He actually stood and stretched, then blinked at Jason. "So you don't remember anything, huh?"

"Just impressions," Jason said. "Feelings, like … and facts, yeah facts."

"Yes?" Clovis said.

"Like I know I shouldn't be here. At this camp. I'm in danger."

"Hmm. Close your eyes."

Jason glanced at Piper, but she nodded reassuringly.

Jason was afraid he'd end up snoring in one of the bunks forever, but he closed his eyes. His thoughts became murky, as if he were sinking into a dark lake.

The next thing he knew, his eyes snapped open. He was sitting in a chair by the fire. Clovis and Piper knelt next to him.

"—serious, all right," Clovis was saying.

"What happened?" Jason said. "How long—"

"Just a few minutes," Piper said. "But it was tense. You almost dissolved."

Jason hoped she didn't mean literally, but her expression was solemn.

"Usually," Clovis said, "memories are lost for a good reason. They sink under the surface like dreams, and with a good sleep, I can bring them back. But this …"

"Lethe?" Piper asked.

"No," Clovis said. "Not even Lethe."

"Lethe?" Jason asked.

Clovis pointed to the tree branch dripping milky drops above the fireplace. "The River Lethe in the Underworld. It dissolves your memories, wipes your mind clean permanently. That's the branch of a poplar tree from the Underworld, dipped into the Lethe. It's the symbol of my father, Hypnos. Lethe is not a place you want to go swimming."

Piper nodded. "Percy went there once. He told me it was powerful enough to wipe the mind of a Titan."

Jason was suddenly glad he hadn't touched the branch. "But … that's not my problem?"

"No," Clovis agreed. "Your mind wasn't wiped, and your memories weren't buried. They've been stolen."

The fire crackled. Drops of Lethe water plinked into the tin cups on the mantel. One of the other Hypnos campers muttered in his sleep—something about a duck.

"Stolen," Jason said. "How?"

"A god," Clovis said. "Only a god would have that kind of power."

"We know that," said Jason. "It was Juno. But how did she do it, and why?"

Clovis scratched his neck. "Juno?"

"He means Hera," Piper said. "For some reason, Jason likes the Roman names."

"Hmm," Clovis said.

"What?" Jason asked. "Does that mean something?"

"Hmm," Clovis said again, and this time Jason realized he was snoring.

"Clovis!" he yelled.

"What? What?" His eyes fluttered open. "We were talking about pillows, right? No, gods. I remember. Greek and Roman. Sure, could be important."

"But they're the same gods," Piper said. "Just different names."

"Not exactly," Clovis said.

Jason sat forward, now very much awake. "What do you mean, not exactly?"

"Well …" Clovis yawned. "Some gods are only Roman. Like Janus, or Pompona. But even the major Greek gods—it's not just their names that changed when they moved to Rome. Their appearances changed. Their attributes changed. They even had slightly different personalities."

"But …" Piper faltered. "Okay, so maybe people saw them differently through the centuries. That doesn't change who they are."

"Sure it does." Clovis began to nod off, and Jason snapped his fingers under his nose.

"Coming, Mother!" he yelped. "I mean … Yeah, I'm awake. So, um, personalities. The gods change to reflect their host cultures. You know that, Piper. I mean, these days, Zeus likes tailored suits, reality television, and that Chinese food place on East Twenty-eighth Street, right? It was the same in Roman times, and the gods were Roman almost as long as they were Greek. It was a big empire, lasted for centuries. So of course their Roman aspects are still a big part of their character."

"Makes sense," Jason said.

Piper shook her head, mystified. "But how do you know all this, Clovis?"

"Oh, I spend a lot of time dreaming. I see the gods there all the time—always shifting forms. Dreams are fluid, you know. You can be in different places at once, always changing identities. It's a lot like being a god, actually. Like recently, I dreamed I was watching a Michael Jackson concert, and then I was onstage with Michael Jackson, and we were singing this duet, and I could not remember the words for 'The Girl Is Mine.' Oh, man, it was so embarrassing, I—"

"Clovis," Piper interrupted. "Back to Rome?"

"Right, Rome," Clovis said. "So we call the gods by their Greek names because that's their original form. But saying their Roman aspects are exactly the same—that's not true. In Rome, they became more warlike. They didn't mingle with mortals as much. They were harsher, more powerful—the gods of an empire."

"Like the dark side of the gods?" Piper asked.

"Not exactly," Clovis said. "They stood for discipline, honor, strength—"

"Good things, then," Jason said. For some reason, he felt the need to speak up for the Roman gods, though wasn't sure why it mattered to him. "I mean, discipline is important, right? That's what made Rome last so long."

Clovis gave him a curious look. "That's true. But the Roman gods weren't very friendly. For instance, my dad, Hypnos … he didn't do much except sleep in Greek times. In Roman times, they called him Somnus. He liked killing people who didn't stay alert at their jobs. If they nodded offat the wrong time, boom—they never woke up. He killed the helmsman of Aeneas when they were sailing from Troy."

"Nice guy," Piper said. "But I still don't understand what it has to do with Jason."

"Neither do I," Clovis said. "But if Hera took your memory, only she can give it back. And if I had to meet the queen of the gods, I'd hope she was more in a Hera mood than a Juno mood. Can I go back to sleep now?"

Piper stared at the branch above the fire, dripping Lethe water into the cups. She looked so worried, Jason wondered if she was considering a drink to forget her troubles. Then she stood and tossed Clovis his pillow. "Thanks, Clovis. We'll see you at dinner."

"Can I get room service?" Clovis yawned and stumbled to his bunk. "I feel like … zzzz …" He collapsed with his butt in the air and his face buried in pillow.

"Won't he suffocate?" Jason asked.

"He'll be fine," Piper said. "But I'm beginning to think that you are in serious trouble."

**A/N: That's about it for chapter 8.**


	9. ANNABETH: IX

ANNABETH DREAMED ABOUT SOMETHING SCARY.

She was on a boat, around her were sharks, and next to her was Jason. He said, "I don't belong in the sea, I really don't." Because of that statement, she felt like puking. Then they were pulled into a whirlpool. She screamed and her vision changed.

She was in what looked like an army command tent, the ones during the days of Napoleon, she thought. There were many kids next to her, bustling around with weapons, armour, and in front of her was a map, with things like numbers that represented troops and possibly other army bases. She gulped, it was like returning to the base of the Roman Army during the Punic Wars.

Then through the door, a battle worn soldier, well a soldier, but he looked about fourteen, lots younger than the average age that the government would allow to join the army.

"Senator Sun Tzu, oops, I mean Annabeth Chase. Urgent…" The boy panted, "Fifth cohort is currently lack of backup, as well as the first. Feels like Operation Othrys is failing."

Annabeth slammed her fist against the table and the maps, making the figurines shake a little.

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Then all the pictures became blurred, a black mist had covered everything. She hoped what would come out of the darkness wasn't a severed head, like in Macbeth, that would be horrible, she hoped the fates weren't playing tricks on her.

She patiently waited, breathing in and out, as she had somehow came up with the conclusion, even without her memory that she had a mild case of claustrophobia, or fear of closed spaces without someone being at her side.

Suddenly from the darkness, there was a shape, not necessarily a person, but that person dressed like the Grim Reaper. Black hooded robe with a cord at the waist, and a staff, yeah, the Grim Reaper. The person placed his arms on her shoulder, and with the raspy voice she heard at Cabin Two.

"You shall avenge me, young heroine, I have shown you glimpses of your past, and that your destiny is held in my grasp. Your partner Jason has volunteered to restore my place, you shall help him restore peace to the Mythological world, at least for now. I am the bane of Western Civilization, the peacemaker between the gods, you shall find a trap, where I am held and release me from my earthly prison. You shall do that by the solstice, Cato. I look forward to my champion."

The figure subsided, and the darkness turned to divine light, brighter than even the brightest light of the sun. And she opened her eyes.

She woke feeling like she'd been trampled by one of the Indian battle elephants used by Alexander the Great. Her chest hurt, and she could barely breathe. She felt her wrist, Infinitus wasn't there, then she felt her side, it was in the shape of a sword, she felt the hilt, it was really elaborate and had a jewel in the middle, very medieval.

So Camp Half-Blood hadn't been a dream.

"How are you feeling?" someone asked.

Annabeth blinked. She was lying in a bed with a white curtain on one side, like in a nurse's office. That redheaded girl, Rachel Dare, sat next to her. On the wall was a poster of a cartoon faun who looked disturbingly like Coach Hedge with a thermometer sticking out of his mouth. The caption read: Don't let sickness get your goat!

"Where—" Annabeth's voice died when she saw the guy at the door.

He looked like a typical California surfer dude—buff and tan, blond hair, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. But he had hundreds of blue eyes all over his body—along his arms, down his legs, and all over his face. Even his feet had eyes, peering up at her from between the straps of his sandals.

"That's Argus," Rachel said, "our head of security. He's just keeping an eye on things … so to speak."

Argus nodded. The eye on his chin winked.

"Where—?" Annabeth tried again, but she felt like she was talking through a mouthful of cotton.

"You're in the Big House, infirmary," Rachel said. "Camp offices. We brought you here when you collapsed."

"You grabbed me," Annabeth remembered. "Juno's voice—"

"I'm so sorry about that," Rachel said. "Believe me, it was not my idea to get possessed. Chiron healed you with some nectar—"

"Nectar?"

"The drink of the gods. In small amounts, it heals demigods, if it doesn't—ah—burn you to ashes."

"Oh. Cool."

Rachel sat forward. "Do you remember your vision?"

Annabeth had a moment of dread, thinking she meant the dream about the giant. Then she realized Rachel was talking about what happened in Cabin Two.

"Something's wrong with the goddess," Annabeth said. "She told me to free her, like she's trapped. She mentioned something about her being the bane of the gods, and something about the solstice."

In the corner, Argus made a rumbling sound in his chest. His eyes all fluttered at once.

"Hera created Argus," Rachel explained. "He's actually very sensitive when it comes to her safety. We're trying to keep him from crying, because last time that happened …well, it caused the next Ark Event."

Argus sniffled. He grabbed a fistful of Kleenex from the bedside table and started dabbing eyes all over his body.

"So …" Annabeth tried not to stare as Argus wiped the tears from his elbows. "What's happened to Hera?"

"We're not sure," Rachel said. "Piper and Jason were here for you, by the way. Jason didn't want to leave you, but Piper had an idea—something that might restore his memories. He might tell you the whole thing as well."

"That's … that's great."

Jason had been here for her? She wished she'd been conscious for that. But if he got his memories back, would that be a good thing? If he got his memories, wouldn't it be easier for him to tell her everything and for her to get her memories back.

She looked down at the medieval sword at her side. Piper had said it was a sign of power and status, but normally used in battle by knights.

"Don't worry." Rachel squeezed her arm. "Jason seems like a good guy. He had a vision too, a lot like yours. Whatever's happening with Hera—I think you two are meant to work together."

Rachel smiled like this was good news, but Annabeth's spirits plunged even further. She'd thought that this quest—whatever it was—would involve nameless people. Rachel shrugged. "I know it's a hard choice, and your options aren't great. Like I said, I get hunches sometimes.

But you're going to be claimed at the campfire. I'm almost sure. When you know who your godly parent is, things might be clearer."

Clearer, Annabeth thought. Not necessarily better.

She sat up in bed. Her forehead ached like someone had driven a spike between her eyes. There's no getting your mother back, her dad had told her. But apparently, tonight, her parent might claim her. For the first time, Annabeth wasn't sure she wanted that.

"I hope it's Aphrodite." She looked up, afraid Rachel might make fun of her, but the oracle just smiled.

"Annabeth, I don't blame you. Truthfully? I think Piper is hoping that too. You guys are a lot alike."

The comparison made Annabeth feel even guiltier. "Another hunch? You don't know anything about me."

"You'd be surprised."

"You're just saying that because you're an oracle, aren't you? You're supposed to sound all mysterious."

Rachel laughed. "Don't be giving away my secrets, Annabeth. And don't worry. Things will work out—just maybe not the way you plan."

"That's not making me feel better."

Somewhere in the distance, a conch horn blew. Argus grumbled and opened the door.

"Dinner?" Annabeth guessed.

"You slept through it," Rachel said. "Time for the campfire. Let's find out where you belong."

**A/N: Sorry this is a lot shorter. Hoped you liked the top part. Also there was a reason why I chose Sun Tzu as Annabeth's nickname, because she is the daughter of the war and wisdom goddess, and not really a fighter, so just like Sun Tzu from my history textbook, it matches.**


	10. ANNABETH: X

THE WHOLE CAMPFIRE IDEA FREAKED ANNABETH OUT. It made her think of those explosions in her dream.

What she got instead was just as terrifying: a sing-along. The amphitheater steps were carved into the side of a hill, facing a stone-lined fire pit. Fifty or sixty kids filled the rows, clustered into groups under various banners.

Annabeth spotted Jason in the front next to Piper. Leo was nearby, sitting with a bunch of burly-looking campers under a steel gray banner emblazoned with a hammer. Standing in front of the fire, half a dozen campers with guitars and strange, old-fashioned harps—lyres—were jumping around, leading a song about pieces of armor, something about how their grandma got dressed for war. Everybody was singing with them and making gestures for the pieces of armor and joking around. It was quite possibly the weirdest thing Annabeth had ever seen—one of those campfire songs that would've been completely embarrassing in daylight; but in the dark, with everybody participating, it was kind of corny and fun. As the energy level got higher, the flames did too, turning from red to orange to gold.

Finally the song ended with a lot of rowdy applause. A guy on a horse trotted up. At least in the flickering light, Annabeth thought it was a guy on a horse. Then she realized it was a centaur—his bottom half a white stallion, his top half a middle-aged guy with curly hair and a trimmed beard. He brandished a spear impaled with toasted marshmallows. "Very nice! And a special welcome to our new arrivals. I am Chiron, camp activities director, and I'm happy you have all arrived here alive and with most of your limbs attached. In a moment, I promise we'll get to the s'mores, but first—"

"What about capture the flag?" somebody yelled. Grumbling broke out among some kids in armor, sitting under a red banner with the emblem of a boar's head.

"Yes," the centaur said. "I know the Ares cabin is anxious to return to the woods for our regular games."

"And kill people!" one of them shouted.

"However," Chiron said, "until the dragon is brought under control, that won't be possible. Cabin Nine, anything to report on that?"

He turned to Leo's group. Leo winked at Annabeth and shot her with a finger gun. The girl next to him stood uncomfortably. She wore an army jacket a lot like Leo's, with her hair covered in a red bandanna. "We're working on it."

More grumbling.

"How, Nyssa?" an Ares kid demanded.

"Really hard," the girl said.

Nyssa sat down to a lot of yelling and complaining, which caused the fire to sputter chaotically. Chiron stamped his hoof against the fire pit stones—bang, bang, bang—and the campers fell silent.

"We will have to be patient," Chiron said. "In the meantime, we have more pressing matters to discuss."

"Percy?" someone asked. The fire dimmed even further, but Piper didn't need the mood flames to sense the crowd's anxiety.

Chiron gestured to Piper. She took a deep breath and stood.

"I didn't find Percy," she announced. Her voice caught a little when she said his name. "He wasn't at the Grand Canyon like I thought. But we're not giving up. We've got teams everywhere. Grover, Tyson, Nico, the Hunters of Artemis —everyone's out looking. We will find him. Chiron's talking about something different. A new quest."

"It's the Great Prophecy, isn't it?" a girl called out.

Everyone turned. The voice had come from a group in back, sitting under a silver-colored banner with an owl emblem. They'd been chatting among themselves and not paying much attention until their leader stood up: Malcolm.

Everyone else looked surprised. Apparently Malcolm didn't address the crowd very often.

"Malcolm?" Piper said. "What do you mean?"

"Well, come on." Malcolm spread his hands like the truth was obvious. "It's logic. Olympus is closed. Percy's disappeared. Hera sends you a vision and you come back with three new demigods in one day. I mean, something weird is going on. The Great Prophecy has started, right?"

Annabeth whispered to Rachel, "What's she talking about—the Great Prophecy?"

Then she realized everyone else was looking at Rachel, too.

"Well?" Malcolm called down. "You're the oracle. Has it started or not?"

Rachel's eyes looked scary in the firelight. Annabeth was afraid she might clench up and start channeling a freaky peacock goddess again, but she stepped forward calmly and addressed the camp.

"Yes," she said. "The Great Prophecy has begun."

Pandemonium broke out.

Annabeth caught Jason's eye. He mouthed, You all right? She nodded and managed a smile, but then looked away. It was too embarrassing to act like that in public.

When the talking finally subsided, Rachel took another step toward the audience, and fifty-plus demigods leaned away from her, as if one skinny redheaded mortal was more intimidating than all of them put together.

"For those of you who have not heard it," Rachel said, "the Great Prophecy was my first prediction. It arrived in August. It goes like this:

"Seven half-bloods shall answer the call. To storm or fire the world must fall—"

Jason shot to his feet. His eyes looked wild, like he'd just been tasered.

Even Rachel seemed caught off guard. "J-Jason?" she said. "What's—"

"Ut cum spiritu postrema sacramentum dejuremus," he chanted.

"Et hostes ornamenta addent ad ianuam necem," Annabeth shouted back.

An uneasy silence settled on the group. She could tell it was Latin, but she wasn't sure why her hopefully future boyfriend was suddenly chanting like a Catholic priest, and why she had shouted out the next line.

"You just … finished the prophecy," Rachel stammered. "—An oath to keep with a final breath/And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death. How did you—"

"I know those lines." Jason winced and put his hands to his temples. "I don't know how, but I know that prophecy."

"Ditto."

"In Latin, no less," Malcolm called out. "Handsome and smart."

There was some giggling from the Athena cabin. God, what a bunch of losers, Annabeth thought. But it didn't do much to break the tension. The campfire was burning a chaotic, nervous shade of green, that made Annabeth think of puke.

Jason sat down, looking embarrassed, but Piper put a hand on his shoulder and muttered something reassuring. Annabeth felt assured.

Rachel Dare still looked a little shaken. She glanced back at Chiron for guidance, but the centaur stood grim and silent, as if he were watching a play he couldn't interrupt—a tragedy that ended with a lot of people dead onstage.

"Well," Rachel said, trying to regain her composure. "So, yeah, that's the Great Prophecy. We hoped it might not happen for years, but I fear it's starting now. I can't give you proof. It's just a feeling. And like Malcolm said, some weird stuff is happening. The seven demigods, whoever they are, have not been gathered yet. I get the feeling some are here tonight. Some are not here."

The campers began to stir and mutter, looking at each other nervously, until a drowsy voice in the crowd called out, "I'm here! Oh … were you calling roll?"

"Go back to sleep, Clovis," someone yelled, and a lot of people laughed.

"Anyway," Rachel continued, "we don't know what the Great Prophecy means. We don't know what challenge the demigods will face, but since the first Great Prophecy predicted the Titan War, we can guess the second Great Prophecy will predict something at least that bad."

"Or worse," Chiron murmured.

Maybe he didn't mean everyone to overhear, but they did. The campfire immediately turned dark purple, the same color as Annabeth's tee shirt.

"What we do know," Rachel said, "is that the first phase has begun. A major problem has arisen, and we need a quest to solve it. Hera, the queen of the gods, has been taken."

Shocked silence. Then fifty demigods started talking at once.

Chiron pounded his hoof again, but Rachel still had to wait before she could get back their attention.

She told them about the incident on the Grand Canyon skywalk—how Gleeson Hedge had sacrificed himself when the storm spirits attacked, and the spirits had warned it was only the beginning. They apparently served some great mistress who would destroy all demigods.

Then Rachel told them about Annabeth passing out in Hera's cabin. Annabeth tried to keep a calm expression, even when she noticed Malcolm in the back row, pantomiming a faint, and his friends giggling. Finally Rachel told them about Jason's vision in the living room of the Big House. The message Hera had delivered there was so similar that Annabeth got a chill. The only difference: Hera had warned Annabeth not to betray her: Bow to his will, and their king shall rise, dooming us all. Hera knew about the giant's threat. But if that was true, why hadn't she warned Jason, and exposed Annabeth as an enemy agent?

"Jason," Rachel said. "Um … do you remember your last name?"

He looked self-conscious, but he shook his head, "I do remember my middle name though, it's Aquila."

"We'll call you Jason Aquila, then," Rachel said. "It's clear Hera herself has issued you a quest."

Rachel paused, as if giving Jason a chance to protest his destiny. Everyone's eyes were on him; there was so much pressure, Annabeth thought she would've buckled in his position. Yet he looked brave and determined. He set his jaw and nodded. "I agree."

"You must save Hera to prevent a great evil," Rachel continued. "Some sort of king from rising. For reasons we don't yet understand, it must happen by the winter solstice, only four days from now."

"That's the council day of the gods," Piper said. "If the gods don't already know Hera's gone, they will definitely notice her absence by then. They'll probably break out fighting, accusing each other of taking her. That's what they usually do."

"The winter solstice," Chiron spoke up, "is also the time of greatest darkness. The gods gather that day, as mortals always have, because there is strength in numbers. The solstice is a day when evil magic is strong. Ancient magic, older than the gods. It is a day when things … stir."

The way he said it, stirring sounded absolutely sinister—like it should be a first-degree felony, not something you did to cookie dough.

"Okay," Piper said, glaring at the centaur. "Thank you, Captain Sunshine. Whatever's going on, I agree with Rachel. Jason has been chosen to lead this quest, so—"

"Why hasn't he been claimed?" somebody yelled from the Ares cabin. "If he's so important—"

"He has been claimed," Chiron announced. "Long ago. Jason, give them a demonstration."

At first, Jason didn't seem to understand. He stepped forward nervously, but Annabeth couldn't help thinking how amazing he looked with his blond hair glowing in the firelight, his regal features like a Roman statue's. He glanced at Annabeth, and she nodded encouragingly. She mimicked flipping a coin.

Jason reached into his pocket. His coin flashed in the air, and when he caught it in his hand, he was holding a lance—a rod of gold about seven feet long, with a spear tip at one end.

The other demigods gasped. Rachel and Annabeth stepped back to avoid the point, which looked sharp as an ice pick.

"Wasn't that …" Annabeth hesitated. "I thought you had a sword."

"Um, it came up tails, I think," Jason said. "Same coin, long-range weapon form."

"Dude, I want one!" yelled somebody from Ares cabin.

"Better than Clarisse's electric spear, Lamer!" one of his brothers agreed.

"Electric," Jason murmured, like that was a good idea. "Back away."

Annabeth and Rachel got the message. Jason raised his javelin, and thunder broke open the sky. Every hair on Piper's arms stood straight up. Lightning arced down through the golden spear point and hit the campfire with the force of an artillery shell.

When the smoke cleared, and the ringing in Piper's ears subsided, the entire camp sat frozen in shock, half blind, covered in ashes, staring at the place where the fire had been. Cinders rained down everywhere. A burning log had impaled itself a few inches from the sleeping kid Clovis, who hadn't even stirred.

Jason lowered his lance. "Um … sorry."

Chiron brushed some burning coals out of his beard. He grimaced as if his worst fears had been confirmed. "A little overkill, perhaps, but you've made your point. And I believe we know who your father is."

"Jupiter," Jason said. "I mean Zeus. Lord of the Sky."

Annabeth couldn't help smiling. It made perfect sense. The most powerful god, the father of all the greatest heroes in the ancient myths—no one else could possibly be Jason's dad.

Apparently, the rest of the camp wasn't so sure. Everything broke into chaos, with dozens of people asking questions until Piper raised her arms.

"Hold it!" she said. "How can he be the son of Zeus? The Big Three … their pact not to have mortal kids … how could we not have known about him sooner?"

Chiron didn't answer, but Piper got the feeling he knew. And the truth was not good.

"The important thing," Rachel said, "is that Jason's here now. He has a quest to fulfill, which means he will need his own prophecy."

She closed her eyes and swooned. Two campers rushed forward and caught her. A third ran to the side of the amphitheater and grabbed a bronze three-legged stool, like they'd been trained for this duty. They eased Rachel onto the stool in front of the ruined hearth. Without the fire, the night was dark, but green mist started swirling around Rachel's feet. When she opened her eyes, they were glowing. Emerald smoke issued from her mouth. The voice that came out was raspy and ancient—the sound a snake would make if it could talk:

"Child of lightning, beware the earth, The giants' revenge the seven shall birth, The forge and owl shall break the cage, And death unleash through Hera's rage."

On the last word, Rachel collapsed, but her helpers were waiting to catch her. They carried her away from the hearth and laid her in the corner to rest.

"Is that normal?" Annabeth asked. Then she realized she'd spoken into the silence, and everyone was looking at her. "I mean… does she spew green smoke a lot?"

"Gods, you're dense!" Malcolm sneered. "She just issued a prophecy—Jason's prophecy to save Hera! Why don't you just—"

"Malcolm," Piper snapped. "Annabeth asked a fair question. Something about that prophecy definitely isn't normal. If breaking Hera's cage unleashes her rage and causes a bunch of death … why would we free her? It might be a trap, or—or maybe Hera will turn on her rescuers. She's never been kind to heroes."

Jason rose. "I don't have much choice. Hera took my memory. I need it back. Besides, we can't just not help the queen of the heavens if she's in trouble."

A girl from Hephaestus cabin stood up—Nyssa, the one with the red bandanna. "Maybe. But you should listen to Annabeth. Hera can be vengeful. She threw her own son—our dad—down a mountain just because he was ugly."

"Real ugly," snickered someone from Aphrodite.

"Shut up!" Nyssa growled. "Anyway, we've also got to think —why beware the earth? And what's the giants' revenge? What are we dealing with here that's powerful enough to kidnap the queen of the heavens?"

No one answered, but Annabeth noticed Piper and Chiron having a silent exchange. Piper thought it went something like:

Piper: The giants' revenge … no, it can't be.

Chiron: Don't speak of it here. Don't scare them.

Piper: You're kidding me! We can't be that unlucky.

Chiron: Later, child. If you told them everything, they would be too terrified to proceed.

Annabeth knew it was crazy to think she could read their expressions so well—two people she barely knew. But she was absolutely positive she understood them, and it scared the jujubes out of her.

Piper took a deep breath. "It's Jason's quest," she announced, "so it's Jason's choice. Obviously, he's the child of lightning. According to tradition, he may choose any two companions."

Someone from the Hermes cabin yelled, "Well, you, obviously, Piper. You've got the most experience."

"No, Travis," Piper said. "First off, I'm not helping Hera. Every time I've tried, she's deceived me, or it's come back to bite me later. Forget it. No way. Secondly, I'm leaving first thing in the morning to find Percy."

"It's connected," Annabeth blurted out, not sure how she got the courage. "You know that's true, don't you? This whole business, your boyfriend's disappearance—it's all connected."

"How?" demanded Malcolm. "If you're so smart, how?"

Annabeth tried to place all the facts together, but she couldn't.

Piper saved her. "You may be right, Annabeth. If this is connected, I'll find out from the other end—by searching for Percy. As I said, I'm not about to rush off to rescue Hera, even if her disappearance sets the rest of the Olympians fighting again. But there's another reason I can't go. The prophecy says otherwise."

"It says who I pick," Jason agreed. "The forge and owl shall break the cage. The forge is the symbol of Vul—Hephaestus."

Under the Cabin Nine banner, Nyssa's shoulders slumped, like she'd just been given a heavy anvil to carry. "If you have to beware the earth," she said, "you should avoid traveling overland. You'll need air transport."

Piper was about to call out that Jason could fly. But then she thought better of it. That was for Jason to tell them, and he wasn't volunteering the information. Maybe he figured he'd freaked them out enough for one night.

"The flying chariot's broken," Nyssa continued, "and the pegasi, we're using them to search for Percy. But maybe Hephaestus cabin can help figure out something else to help. With Jake incapacitated, I'm senior camper. I can volunteer for the quest."

She didn't sound enthusiastic.

Then Leo stood up. He'd been so quiet, Annabeth had almost forgotten he was there, which was totally not like Leo.

"It's me," he said.

His cabinmates stirred. Several tried to pull him back to his seat, but Leo resisted.

"No, it's me. I know it is. I've got an idea for the transportation problem. Let me try. I can fix this!"

Jason studied him for a moment. Piper was sure he was going to tell Leo no. Then he smiled. "We started this together, Leo. Seems only right you come along. You find us a ride, you're in."

"Yes!" Leo pumped his fist.

"It'll be dangerous," Nyssa warned him. "Hardship, monsters, terrible suffering. Possibly none of you will come back alive."

"Oh." Suddenly Leo didn't look so excited. Then he remembered everyone was watching. "I mean … Oh, cool! Suffering? I love suffering! Let's do this."

Piper nodded. "Then, Jason, you only need to choose the third quest member. The owl—"

"Oh, absolutely!" Malcolm was on his feet and flashing Jason a smile. "The owl is Athena. Everybody knows that. I am totally yours."

Annabeth's hands clenched. She stepped forward. "No."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, Enstien wannabe. Back off."

"I had the vision of Hera; not you. I have to do this."

"Anyone can have a vision," Malcolm said. "You were just at the right place at the right time." He turned to Jason. "Look, fighting is all fine, I suppose. And people who build things …" She looked at Leo in disdain. "Well, I suppose someone has to get their hands dirty. But you need debate on your side. I can be very persuasive. I could help a lot."

The campers started murmuring about how Malcolm was pretty persuasive. Annabeth could see Malcolm winning them over. Even Chiron was scratching his beard, like Malcolm's participation suddenly made sense to him.

"Well …" Piper said. "Given the wording of the prophecy—"

"No!" Annabeth's own voice sounded strange in her ears—more insistent, richer in tone. "I'm supposed to go."

Then the weirdest thing happened. Everyone started nodding, muttering that hmm, Annabeth's point of view made sense too. Malcolm looked around, incredulous. Even some of his own campers were nodding.

"Get over it!" Malcolm snapped at the crowd. "What can Piper do?"

Annabeth tried to respond, but her confidence started to wane. What could she offer? She wasn't a fighter, or a planner, or a fixer. She had no skills except perhaps her amazing intellect.

Plus, she was a liar. She needed to go on this quest for reasons that went way beyond Jason—and if she did go, she'd end up betraying everyone there. She heard that voice from the dream: Do our bidding, and you may walk away alive. How could she make a choice like that—between helping her father and helping Jason?

"Well," Malcolm said smugly, "I guess that settles it."

Suddenly there was collective gasp. Everyone stared at Annabeth like she'd just exploded. She wondered what she'd done wrong. Then she realized there was a silvery glow around her.

"What?" she demanded.

She looked above her, but there was no burning symbol like the one that appeared over Leo. Then she looked straight ahead and yelped.

What was flying towards her was an owl, a snowy owl messenger, like Hedwig in Harry Potter. And it was carrying a scroll of parchment, with her name written in beautiful calligraphy.

"Oh, god," she said. "What's that?"

The owl flew in front of her, not wanting to hurt her and dropped the scroll at her feet. She didn't want to touch it, but her curiosity outdid that. She opened it. She read it out loud.

"Blessed daughter of mine,

Your father was a man of great wisdom. You are the only daughter of my more diciplined aspect, though you are not a fighter you are a Sun Tzu. You are the one of the chosen ones of the seven, along with Jason and Leo. Hope you do well.

'This is my daughter of whom I am pleased.'

Athena, goddess of war, wisdom and the useful arts."

It was... It was that...

"You're three quarters god." Said Jason.

Under different circumstances, that would've been the happiest moment of her life. But now everyone was staring at her like she was a freak. Malcolm's face was full of horror and revulsion. "No!" he cried. "Not possible!"

"This isn't me," Piper protested. "I—don't understand."

Chiron the centaur folded his front legs and bowed to her, and all the campers followed his example.

"Hail, Annabeth Chase," Chiron announced gravely, as if he were speaking at her funeral. "Daughter of Athena, goddess of war, wisdom and the useful arts."

**A/N: Hope you liked this chapter, I hope to add in more remix quotes or mentions of popular culture. Hope you caught the remixed bible quote.**


	11. LEO: XI

LEO DIDN'T STICK AROUND AFTER ANNABETH received her letter. Sure, it was amazing and all—_She's got an old fashioned scroll, delivered by an owl! It's magic!_ —but Leo had problems to deal with. He ducked out of the amphitheater and ran into the darkness, wondering what he'd gotten himself into.

He'd stood up in front of a bunch of stronger, braver demigods and volunteered—_volunteered_—for a mission that would probably get him killed.

He hadn't mentioned seeing Tía Callida, his old babysitter, but as soon as he'd heard about Jason's vision—the lady in the black dress and shawl—Leo knew it was the same woman. Tía Callida was Hera. His evil babysitter was the queen of the gods. Stuff like that could really deep-fry your brain.

He trudged toward the woods and tried not to think about his childhood—all the messed-up things that had led to his mother's death. But he couldn't help it.

The first time Tía Callida tried to kill him, he must've been about two. Tía Callida was looking after him while his mother was at the machine shop. She wasn't really his aunt, of course—just one of the old women in the community, a generic _tía_ who helped watch the kids. She smelled like a honey-baked ham, and always wore a widow's dress with a black shawl.

"Let's set you down for a nap," she said. "Let's see if you are my brave little hero, eh?"

Leo was sleepy. She nestled him into his blankets in a warm mound of red and yellow—pillows? The bed was like a cubbyhole in the wall, made of blackened bricks, with a metal slot over his head and a square hole far above, where he could see the stars. He remembered resting comfortably, grabbing at sparks like fireflies. He dozed, and dreamed of a boat made of fire, sailing through the cinders. He imagined himself on board, navigating the sky. Somewhere nearby, Tía Callida sat in her rocking chair—_creak, creak, creak_—and sang a lullaby. Even at two, Leo knew the difference between English and Spanish, and he remembered being puzzled because Tía Callida was singing in a language that was neither.

Everything was fine until his mother came home. She screamed and raced over to snatch him up, yelling at Tía Callida, "How could you?" But the old lady had disappeared.

Leo remembered looking over his mother's shoulder at the flames curling around his blankets. Only years later had he realized he'd been sleeping in a blazing fireplace.

The weirdest thing? Tía Callida hadn't been arrested or even banished from their house. She appeared again several times over the next few years. Once when Leo was three, she let him play with knives. "You must learn your blades early," she insisted, "if you are to be my hero someday." Leo managed not to kill himself, but he got the feeling Tía Callida wouldn't have cared one way or the other.

When Leo was four, Tía found a rattlesnake for him in a nearby cow pasture. She gave him a stick and encouraged him to poke the animal. "Where is your bravery, little hero? Show me the Fates were right to choose you." Leo stared down at those amber eyes, hearing the dry _shh-shh-shh_ of the snake's rattle. He couldn't bring himself to poke the snake. It didn't seem fair. Apparently the snake felt the same way about biting a little kid. Leo could've sworn it looked at Tía Callida like, _Are you nuts, lady?_ Then it disappeared into the tall grass.

The last time she babysat him, Leo was five. She brought him a pack of crayons and a pad of paper. They sat together at the picnic table in back of the apartment complex, under an old pecan tree. While Tía Callida sang her strange songs, Leo drew a picture of the boat he'd seen in the flames, with colorful sails and rows of oars, a curved stern, and an awesome masthead. When he was almost done, about to sign his name the way he'd learned in kindergarten, a wind snatched the picture away. It flew into the sky and disappeared.

Leo wanted to cry. He'd spent so much time on that picture—but Tía Callida just clucked with disappointment.

"It isn't time yet, little hero. Someday, you'll have your quest. You'll find your destiny, and your hard journey will finally make sense. But first you must face many sorrows. I regret that, but heroes cannot be shaped any other way. Now, make me a fire, eh? Warm these old bones."

A few minutes later, Leo's mom came out and shrieked with horror. Tía Callida was gone, but Leo sat in the middle of a smoking fire. The pad of paper was reduced to ashes. Crayons had melted into a bubbling puddle of multicolored goo, and Leo's hands were ablaze, slowly burning through the picnic table. For years afterward, people in the apartment complex would wonder how someone had seared the impressions of a five-year-old's hands an inch deep into solid wood.

Now Leo was sure that Tía Callida, his psychotic babysitter, had been Hera all along. That made her, what—his godly grandmother? His family was even more messed up than he realized.

He wondered if his mother had known the truth. Leo remembered after that last visit, his mom took him inside and had a long talk with him, but he only understood some of it.

"She can't come back again." His mom had a beautiful face with kind eyes, and curly dark hair, but she looked older than she was because of hard work. The lines around her eyes were deeply etched. Her hands were callused. She was the first person from their family to graduate from college. She had a degree in mechanical engineering and could design anything, fix anything, build anything.

No one would hire her. No company would take her seriously, so she ended up in the machine shop, trying to make enough money to support the two of them. She always smelled of machine oil, and when she talked with Leo, she switched from Spanish to English constantly—using them like complementary tools. It took Leo years to realize that not everyone spoke that way. She'd even taught him Morse code as a kind of game, so they could tap messages to each other when they were in different rooms: _I love you. You okay?_ Simple things like that.

"I don't care what Callida says," his mom told him. "I don't care about destiny and the Fates. You're too young for that. You're still my baby."

She took his hands, looking for burn marks, but of course there weren't any. "Leo, listen to me. Fire is a tool, like anything else, but it's more dangerous than most. You don't know your limits. Please, promise me—no more fire until you meet your father. Someday, _mijo_, you _will_ meet him. He'll explain everything."

Leo had heard that since he could remember. Someday he would meet his dad. His mom wouldn't answer any questions about him. Leo had never met him, never even seen pictures, but she talked like he'd just gone to the store for some milk and he'd be back any minute. Leo tried to believe her. Someday, everything would make sense.

For the next couple of years, they were happy. Leo almost forgot about Tía Callida. He still dreamed of the flying boat, but the other strange events seemed like a dream too.

It all came apart when he was eight. By then, he was spending every free hour at the shop with his mom. He knew how to use the machines. He could measure and do math better than most adults. He'd learned to think three-dimensionally, solving mechanical problems in his head the way his mom did.

One night, they stayed late because his mom was finishing a drill bit design she hoped to patent. If she could sell the prototype, it might change their lives. She'd finally get a break.

As she worked, Leo passed her supplies and told her corny jokes, trying to keep her spirits up. He loved it when he could make her laugh. She'd smile and say, "Your father would be proud of you, _mijo_. You'll meet him soon, I'm sure."

Mom's workspace was at the very back of the shop. It was kind of creepy at night, because they were the only ones there. Every sound echoed through the dark warehouse, but Leo didn't mind as long as he was with his mom. If he did wander the shop, they could always keep in touch with Morse code taps. Whenever they were ready to leave, they had to walk through the entire shop, through the break room, and out to the parking lot, locking the doors behind them.

That night after finishing up, they'd just gotten to the break room when his mom realized she didn't have her keys.

"That's funny." She frowned. "I know I had them. Wait here, _mijo_. I'll only be a minute."

She gave him one more smile—the last one he'd ever get —and she went back into the warehouse.

She'd only been gone a few heartbeats when the interior door slammed shut. Then the exterior door locked itself.

"Mom?" Leo's heart pounded. Something heavy crashed inside the warehouse. He ran to the door, but no matter how hard he pulled or kicked, it wouldn't open. "Mom!" Frantically, he tapped a message on the wall: _You okay?_

"She can't hear you," a voice said.

Leo turned and found himself facing a strange woman. At first he thought it was Tía Callida. She was wrapped in black robes, with a veil covering her face.

"Tía?" he said.

The woman chuckled, a slow gentle sound, as if she were half asleep. "I am not your guardian. Merely a family resemblance."

"What—what do you want? Where's my mom?"

"Ah … loyal to your mother. How nice. But you see, I have children too … and I understand you will fight them someday. When they try to wake me, you will prevent them. I cannot allow that."

"I don't know you. I don't want to fight anybody."

She muttered like a sleepwalker in a trance, "A wise choice."

With a chill, Leo realized the woman was, in fact, asleep. Behind the veil, her eyes were closed. But even stranger: her clothes were not made of cloth. They were made of _earth_—dry black dirt, churning and shifting around her. Her pale, sleeping face was barely visible behind a curtain of dust, and he had the horrible sense that she'd had just risen from the grave. If the woman was asleep, Leo wanted her to stay that way. He knew that fully awake, she would be even more terrible.

"I cannot destroy you yet," the woman murmured. "The Fates will not allow it. But they not do protect your mother, and they cannot stop me from breaking your spirit. Remember this night, little hero, when they ask you to oppose me."

"Leave my mother alone!" Fear rose in his throat as the woman shuffled forward. She moved more like an avalanche than a person, a dark wall of earth shifting toward him.

"How will you stop me?" she whispered.

She walked straight through a table, the particles of her body reassembling on the other side.

She loomed over Leo, and he knew she would pass right through him, too. He was the only thing between her and his mother.

His hands caught fire.

A sleepy smile spread across the woman's face, as if she'd already won. Leo screamed with desperation. His vision turned red. Flames washed over the earthen woman, the walls, the locked doors. And Leo lost consciousness.

When he woke, he was in an ambulance.

The paramedic tried to be kind. She told him the warehouse had burned down. His mother hadn't made it out. The paramedic said she was sorry, but Leo felt hollow. He'd lost control, just like his mother had warned. Her death was his fault.

Soon the police came to get him, and they weren't as nice. The fire had started in the break room, they said, right where Leo was standing. He'd survived by some miracle, but what kind of child locked the doors of his mother's workplace, knowing she was inside, and started a fire?

Later, his neighbors at the apartment complex told the police what a strange boy he was. They talked about the burned handprints on the picnic table. They'd always known something was wrong with Esperanza Valdez's son.

His relatives wouldn't take him in. His Aunt Rosa called him a _diablo_ and shouted at the social workers to take him away. So Leo went to his first foster home. A few days later, he ran away. Some foster homes lasted longer than others. He would joke around, make a few friends, pretend that nothing bothered him, but he always ended up running sooner or later. It was the only thing that made the pain better—feeling like he was moving, getting farther and farther away from the ashes of that machine shop.

He'd promised himself he would never play with fire again. He hadn't thought about Tía Callida, or the sleeping woman wrapped in earthen robes, for a long time.

He was almost to the woods when he imagined Tía Callida's voice: _It wasn't your fault, little hero. Our enemy wakes. It's time to stop running._

"Hera," Leo muttered, "you're not even here, are you? You're in a cage somewhere."

There was no answer.

But now, at least, Leo understood something. Hera had been watching him his entire life. Somehow, she'd known that one day she would need him. Maybe those Fates she mentioned could tell the future. Leo wasn't sure. But he knew he was _meant_ to go on this quest. Jason's prophecy warned them to beware the earth, and Leo knew it had something to do with that sleeping woman in the shop, wrapped in robes of shifting dirt.

_You'll find your destiny,_ Tía Callida had promised, _and your hard journey will finally make sense._

Leo might find out what that flying boat in his dreams meant. He might meet his father, or even get to avenge his mother's death.

But first things first. He'd promised Jason a flying ride.

Not the boat from his dreams—not yet. There wasn't time to build something that complicated. He needed a quicker solution. He needed a dragon.

He hesitated at the edge of the woods, peering into absolute blackness. Owls hooted, and something far away hissed like a chorus of snakes.

Leo remembered what Will Solace had told him: No one should go in the woods alone, definitely not unarmed. Leo had nothing—no sword, no flashlight, no help.

He glanced back at the lights of the cabins. He could turn around now and tell everyone he'd been joking. _Psych!_ Nyssa could go on the quest instead. He could stay at camp and learn to be part of the Hephaestus cabin, but he wondered how long it would be before he looked like his bunkmates—sad, dejected, convinced of his own bad luck.

_They cannot stop me from breaking your spirit_, the sleeping woman had said. _Remember this night, little hero, when they ask you to oppose me._

"Believe me, lady," Leo muttered, "I remember. And whoever you are, I'm gonna face-plant you hard, Leo-style."

He took a deep breath and plunged into the forest.


	12. LEO: VII

THE WOODS WEREN'T LIKE ANYPLACE he'd been before. Leo had been raised in a north Houston apartment complex. The wildest things he'd ever seen were that rattlesnake in the cow pasture and his Aunt Rosa in her nightgown, until he was sent to Wilderness School.

Even there, the school had been in the desert. No trees with gnarled roots to trip over. No streams to fall into. No branches casting dark, creepy shadows and owls looking down at him with their big reflective eyes. This was the Twilight Zone.

He stumbled along until he was sure no one back at the cabins could possibly see him. Then he summoned fire. Flames danced along his fingertips, casting enough light to see. He hadn't tried to keep a sustained burn going since he was five, at that picnic table. Since his mom's death, he'd been too afraid to try anything. Even this tiny fire made him feel guilty.

He kept walking, looking for dragon-type clues—giant footprints, trampled trees, swaths of burning forest. Something that big couldn't exactly sneak around, right? But he saw _nada_. Once he glimpsed a large, furry shape like a wolf or a bear, but it stayed away from his fire, which was fine by Leo.

Then, at the bottom of a clearing, he saw the first trap—a hundred-foot-wide crater ringed with boulders.

Leo had to admit it was pretty ingenious. In the center of the depression, a metal vat the size of a hot tub had been filled with bubbly dark liquid—Tabasco sauce and motor oil. On a pedestal suspended over the vat, an electric fan rotated in a circle, spreading the fumes across the forest. Could metal dragons smell?

The vat seemed to be unguarded. But Leo looked closely, and in the dim light of the stars and his handheld fire, he could see the glint of metal beneath the dirt and leaves—a bronze net lining the entire crater. Or maybe _see_ wasn't the right word—he could sense it there, as if the mechanism was emitting heat, revealing itself to him. Six large strips of bronze stretched out from the vat like the spokes of a wheel. They would be pressure sensitive, Leo guessed. As soon as the dragon stepped on one, the net would spring closed, and _voilà_—one gift-wrapped monster.

Leo edged closer. He put his foot on the nearest trigger strip. As he expected, nothing happened. They had to have set the net for something really heavy. Otherwise they could catch an animal, human, smaller monster, whatever. He doubted there was anything else as heavy as a metal dragon in these woods. At least, he hoped there wasn't.

He picked his way down the crater and approached the vat. The fumes were almost overpowering, and his eyes started watering. He remembered a time when Tía Callida (Hera, whatever) had made him chop jalapeños in the kitchen and he'd gotten the juice in his eyes. Serious pain. But of course she'd been like, "Endure it, little hero. The Aztecs of your mother's homeland used to punish bad children by holding them over a fire filled with chili peppers. They raised many heroes that way."

A total psycho, that lady. Leo was so glad he was on a quest to rescue her.

Tía Callida would've loved this vat, because it was _way_ worse than jalapeño juice. Leo looked for a trigger—something that would disable the net. He didn't see anything.

He had a moment of panic. Nyssa had said there were several traps like this in the woods, and they were planning more. What if the dragon had already stepped into another one? How could Leo possibly find them all?

He continued to search, but he didn't see any release mechanism. No large button labeled off. It occurred to him that there might not _be_ one. He started to despair—and then he heard the sound.

It was more of a tremor—the deep sort of rumbling you hear in your gut rather than your ears. It gave him the jitters, but he didn't look around for the source. He just kept examining the trap, thinking, _Must be a long way off. It's pounding its way through the woods. I gotta hurry._

Then he heard a grinding snort, like steam forced out of a metal barrel.

His neck tingled. He turned slowly. At the edge of the pit, fifty feet away, two glowing red eyes were staring at him. The creature gleamed in the moonlight, and Leo couldn't believe something that huge had sneaked up on him so fast. Too late, he realized its gaze was fixed on the fire in his hand, and he extinguished the flames.

He could still see the dragon just fine. It was about sixty feet long, snout to tail, its body made of interlocking bronze plates. Its claws were the size of butcher knives, and its mouth was lined with hundreds of dagger-sharp metal teeth. Steam came out of its nostrils. It snarled like a chainsaw cutting through a tree. It could've bitten Leo in half, easy, or stomped him flat. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, except for one problem that completely ruined Leo's plan.

"You don't have wings," Leo said.

The dragon's snarl died. It tilted its head as if to say, _Why aren't you running away in terror?_

"Hey, no offense," Leo said. "You're amazing! Good god, who _made_ you? Are you hydraulic or nuclear-powered or what? But if it was me, I would've put wings on you. What kind of dragon doesn't have wings? I guess maybe you're too heavy to fly? I should've thought of that."

The dragon snorted, more confused now. It was supposed to trample Leo. This conversation thing wasn't part of the plan. It took a step forward, and Leo shouted, "No!"

The dragon snarled again.

"It's a trap, bronze brain," Leo said. "They're trying to catch you."

The dragon opened its mouth and blew fire. A column of white-hot flames billowed over Leo, more than he'd ever tried to endure before. He felt as if he were being hosed down with a powerful, very hot fire hose. It stung a little, but he stood his ground. When the flames died, he was perfectly fine. Even his clothes were okay, which Leo didn't understand, but for which he was grateful. He liked his army jacket, and having his pants seared off would've been pretty embarrassing.

The dragon stared at Leo. Its face didn't actually change, being made of metal and all, but Leo thought he could read its expression: _Why no crispy critter?_ A spark flew out of its neck like it was about to short-circuit.

"You can't burn me," Leo said, trying to sound stern and calm. He'd never had a dog before, but he talked to the dragon the way he thought you'd talk to a dog. "Stay, boy. Don't come any closer. I don't want you to get caught. See, they think you're broken and have to be scrapped. But I don't believe that. I can fix you if you'll let me—"

The dragon creaked, roared, and charged. The trap sprang. The floor of the crater erupted with a sound like a thousand trash can lids banging together. Dirt and leaves flew, metal net flashing. Leo was knocked off his feet, turned upside down, and doused in Tabasco sauce and oil. He found himself sandwiched between the vat and the dragon as it thrashed, trying to free itself from the net that had wrapped around them both.

The dragon blew flames in every direction, lighting up the sky and setting trees on fire. Oil and sauce burned all over them. It didn't hurt Leo, but it left a nasty taste in his mouth.

"Will you stop that!" he yelled.

The dragon kept squirming. Leo realized he would get crushed if he didn't move. It wasn't easy, but he managed to wriggle out from between the dragon and the vat. He squirmed his way through the net. Fortunately the holes were plenty big enough for a skinny kid.

He ran to the dragon's head. It tried to snap at him, but its teeth were tangled in the mesh. It blew fire again, but seemed to be running out of energy. This time the flames were only orange. They sputtered before they even reached Leo's face.

"Listen, man," Leo said, "you're just going to show them where you are. Then they'll come and break out the acid and the metal cutters. Is that what you want?"

The dragon's jaw made a creaking sound, like it was trying to talk.

"Okay, then," Leo said. "You'll have to trust me."

And Leo set to work.

It took him almost an hour to find the control panel. It was right behind the dragon's head, which made sense. He'd elected to keep the dragon in the net, because it was easier to work with the dragon constrained, but the dragon didn't like it.

"Hold still!" Leo scolded.

The dragon made another creaking sound that might've been a whimper.

Leo examined the wires inside the dragon's head. He was distracted by a sound in the woods, but when he looked up it was just a tree spirit—a dryad, Leo thought they were called—putting out the flames in her branches. Fortunately, the dragon hadn't started an all-out forest fire, but still the dryad wasn't too pleased. The girl's dress was smoking. She smothered the flames with a silky blanket, and when she saw Leo looking at her, she made a gesture that was probably very rude in Dryad. Then she disappeared in a green poof of mist.

Leo returned his attention to the wiring. It was ingenious, definitely, and it made sense to him. This was the motor control relay. This processed sensory input from the eyes. This disk …

"Ha," he said. "Well, no wonder."

_Creak?_ the dragon asked with its jaw.

"You've got a corroded control disk. Probably regulates your higher reasoning circuits, right? Rusty brain, man. No wonder you're a little … confused." He almost said _crazy_, but he caught himself. "I wish I had a replacement disk, but …this is a complicated piece of circuitry. I'm gonna have to take it out and clean it. Only be a minute." He pulled out the disk, and the dragon went absolutely still. The glow died in its eyes. Leo slid off its back and began polishing the disk. He mopped up some oil and Tabasco sauce with his sleeve, which helped cut through the grime, but the more he cleaned, the more concerned he got. Some of the circuits were beyond repair. He could make it better, but not perfect. For that, he'd need a completely new disk, and he had no idea how to build one.

He tried to work quickly. He wasn't sure how long the dragon's control disk could be off without damaging it—maybe forever—but he didn't want to take chances. Once he'd done the best he could, he climbed back up to the dragon's head and started cleaning the wiring and gearboxes, getting himself filthy in the process.

"Clean hands, dirty equipment," he muttered, something his mother used to say. By the time he was through, his hands were black with grease and his clothes looked like he'd just lost a mud-wrestling contest, but the mechanisms looked a lot better. He slipped in the disk, connected the last wire, and sparks flew. The dragon shuddered. Its eyes began to glow.

"Better?" Leo asked.

The dragon made a sound like a high-speed drill. It opened its mouth and all its teeth rotated.

"I guess that's a _yes_. Hold on, I'll free you."

Another thirty minutes to find the release clamps for the net and untangle the dragon, but finally it stood and shook the last bit of netting off its back. It roared triumphantly and shot fire at the sky.

"Seriously," Leo said. "Could you not show off?"

_Creak?_ the dragon asked.

"You need a name," Leo decided. "I'm calling you Festus."

The dragon whirred its teeth and grinned. At least Leo hoped it was a grin.

"Cool," Leo said. "But we still have a problem, because you don't have wings."

Festus tilted his head and snorted steam. Then he lowered his back in an unmistakable gesture. He wanted Leo to climb on.

"Where we going?" Leo asked.

But he was too excited to wait for an answer. He climbed onto the dragon's back, and Festus bounded off into the woods.

Leo lost track of time and all sense of direction. It seemed impossible the woods could be so deep and wild, but the dragon traveled until the trees were like skyscrapers and the canopy of leaves completely blotted out the stars. Even the fire in Leo's hand couldn't have lit the way, but the dragon's glowing red eyes acted like headlights.

Finally they crossed a stream and came to a dead end, a limestone cliff a hundred feet tall—a solid, sheer mass the dragon couldn't possibly climb.

Festus stopped at the base and lifted one leg like a dog pointing.

"What is it?" Leo slid to the ground. He walked up to the cliff—nothing but solid rock. The dragon kept pointing.

"It's not going to move out of your way," Leo told him.

The loose wire in the dragon's neck sparked, but otherwise he stayed still. Leo put his hand on the cliff. Suddenly his fingers smoldered. Lines of fire spread from his fingertips like ignited gunpowder, sizzling across the limestone. The burning lines raced across the cliff face until they had outlined a glowing red door five times as tall as Leo. He backed up and the door swung open, disturbingly silently for such a big slab of rock.

"Perfectly balanced," he muttered. "That's some first-rate engineering."

The dragon unfroze and marched inside, as if he were coming home.

Leo stepped through, and the door began to close. He had a moment of panic, remembering that night in the machine shop long ago, when he'd been locked in. What if he got stuck in here? But then lights flickered on—a combination of electric fluorescents and wall-mounted torches. When Leo saw the cavern, he forgot about leaving.

"Festus," he muttered. "What _is_ this place?"

The dragon stomped to the center of the room, leaving tracks in the thick dust, and curled up on a large circular platform.

The cave was the size of an airplane hangar, with endless work tables and storage cages, rows of garage-sized doors along either wall, and staircases that led up to a network of catwalks high above. Equipment was everywhere—hydraulic lifts, welding torches, hazard suits, air-spades, forklifts, plus something that looked suspiciously like a nuclear reaction chamber. Bulletin boards were covered with tattered, faded blueprints. And weapons, armor, shields—war supplies all over the place, a lot of them only partially finished.

Hanging from chains far above the dragon's platform was an old tattered banner almost too faded to read. The letters were Greek, but Leo somehow knew what they said: bunker 9.

Did that mean nine as in the Hephaestus cabin, or nine as in there were eight others? Leo looked at Festus, still curled up on the platform, and it occurred to him that the dragon looked so content because it _was_ home. It had probably been built on that pad.

"Do the other kids know … ?" Leo's question died as he asked it. Clearly, this place had been abandoned for decades. Cobwebs and dust covered everything. The floor revealed no footprints except for his, and the huge paw prints of the dragon. He was the first one in this bunker since … since a long time ago. Bunker 9 had been abandoned with a lot of projects half finished on the tables. Locked up and forgotten, but why?

Leo looked at a map on the wall—a battle map of camp, but the paper was as cracked and yellow as onion skin. A date at the bottom read, 1864.

"No way," he muttered.

Then he spotted a blueprint on a nearby bulletin board, and his heart almost leaped out of his throat. He ran to the worktable and stared up at a white-line drawing almost faded beyond recognition: a Greek ship from several different angles. Faintly scrawled words underneath it read: prophecy? unclear. flight?

It was the ship he'd seen in his dreams—the flying ship. Someone had tried to build it here, or at least sketched out the idea. Then it was left, forgotten … a prophecy yet to come. And weirdest of all, the ship's masthead was exactly like the one Leo had drawn when he was five—the head of a dragon. "Looks like you, Festus," he murmured. "That's creepy."

The masthead gave him an uneasy feeling, but Leo's mind spun with too many other questions to think about it for long. He touched the blueprint, hoping he could take it down to study, but the paper crackled at his touch, so he left it alone. He looked around for other clues. No boats. No pieces that looked like parts of this project, but there were so many doors and storerooms to explore.

Festus snorted like he was trying to get Leo's attention, reminding him they didn't have all night. It was true. Leo figured it would be morning in a few hours, and he'd gotten completely sidetracked. He'd saved the dragon, but it wasn't going to help him on the quest. He needed something that would fly.

Festus nudged something toward him—a leather tool belt that had been left next to his construction pad. Then the dragon switched on his glowing red eye beams and turned them toward the ceiling. Leo looked up to where the spotlights were pointing, and yelped when he recognized the shapes hanging above them in the darkness.

"Festus," he said in a small voice. "We've got work to do."

**A/N: Didn't have to change anything here. **

**Message: I do advise you to not post so many reviews that are exactly the same, also watch Captain America: The Winter Soldier, it's good.**


	13. JASON: XIII

JASON DREAMED OF WOLVES.

He stood in a clearing in the middle of a redwood forest. In front of him rose the ruins of a stone mansion. Low gray clouds blended with the ground fog, and cold rain hung in the air. A pack of large gray beasts milled around him, brushing against his legs, snarling and baring their teeth. They gently nudged him toward the ruins.

Jason had no desire to become the world's largest dog biscuit, so he decided to do what they wanted.

The ground squelched under his boots as he walked. Stone spires of chimneys, no longer attached to anything, rose up like totem poles. The house must've been enormous once, multi-storied with massive log walls and a soaring gabled roof, but now nothing remained but its stone skeleton. Jason passed under a crumbling doorway and found himself in a kind of courtyard.

Before him was a drained reflecting pool, long and rectangular. Jason couldn't tell how deep it was, because the bottom was filled with mist. A dirt path led all the way around, and the house's uneven walls rose on either side. Wolves paced under the archways of rough red volcanic stone.

At the far end of the pool sat a giant she-wolf, several feet taller than Jason. Her eyes glowed silver in the fog, and her coat was the same color as the rocks—warm chocolaty red.

"I know this place," Jason said.

The wolf regarded him. She didn't exactly speak, but Jason could understand her. The movements of her ears and whiskers, the flash of her eyes, the way she curled her lips—all of these were part of her language.

_Of course,_ the she-wolf said. _You began your journey here as a pup. Now you must find your way back. A new quest, a new start._

"That isn't fair," Jason said. But as soon as he spoke, he knew there was no point complaining to the she-wolf.

Wolves didn't feel sympathy. They never expected fairness. The wolf said: _Conquer or die. This is always our way._

Jason wanted to protest that he couldn't conquer if he didn't know who he was, or where he was supposed to go. But he knew this wolf. Her name was simply Lupa, the Mother Wolf, the greatest of her kind. Long ago she'd found him in this place, protected him, nurtured him, _chosen_ him, but if Jason showed weakness, she would tear him to shreds. Rather than being her pup, he would become her dinner. In the wolf pack, weakness was not an option.

"Can you guide me?" Jason asked.

Lupa made a rumbling noise deep in her throat, and the mist in the pool dissolved.

At first Jason wasn't sure what he was seeing. At opposite ends of the pool, two dark spires had erupted from the cement floor like the drill bits of some massive tunneling machines boring through the surface. Jason couldn't tell if the spires were made of rock or petrified vines, but they were formed of thick tendrils that came together in a point at the top. Each spire was about five feet tall, but they weren't identical. The one closest to Jason was darker and seemed like a solid mass, its tendrils fused together. As he watched, it pushed a little farther out of the earth and expanded a little wider.

On Lupa's end of the pool, the second spire's tendrils were more open, like the bars of a cage. Inside, Jason could vaguely see a misty figure struggling, shifting within its confines.

"Hera," Jason said.

The she-wolf growled in agreement. The other wolves circled the pool, their fur standing up on their backs as they snarled at the spires.

_The enemy has chosen this place to awaken her most powerful son, the giant king,_ Lupa said. _Our sacred place, where demigods are claimed—the place of death or life. The burned house. The house of the wolf. It is an abomination. You must stop her._

"Her?" Jason was confused. "You mean, Hera?"

The she-wolf gnashed her teeth impatiently. _Use your senses, pup. I care nothing for Juno, but if she falls, our enemy wakes. And that will be the end for all of us. You know this place. You can find it again. Cleanse our house. Stop this before it is too late._

The dark spire grew slowly larger, like the bulb of some horrible flower. Jason sensed that if it ever opened, it would release something he did _not_ want to meet.

"Who am I?" Jason asked the she-wolf. "At least tell me that."

Wolves don't have much of a sense of humor, but Jason could tell the question amused Lupa, as if Jason were a cub just trying out his claws, practicing to be the alpha male.

_You are our saving grace, as always._ The she-wolf curled her lip, as if she had just made a clever joke. _Do not fail, son of Jupiter._

**A/N: There you go, nothing to change, but definitely chapter thirteen.**


	14. JASON: XIV

JASON WOKE TO THE SOUND OF THUNDER. Then he remembered where he was. It was always thundering in Cabin One.

Above his cot, the domed ceiling was decorated with a blue-and-white mosaic like a cloudy sky. The cloud tiles shifted across the ceiling, changing from white to black. Thunder rumbled through the room, and gold tiles flashed like veins of lightning.

Except for the cot that the other campers had brought him, the cabin had no regular furniture—no chairs, tables, or dressers. As far as Jason could tell, it didn't even have a bathroom. The walls were carved with alcoves, each holding a bronze brazier or a golden eagle statue on a marble pedestal. In the center of the room, a twenty-foot-tall, full-color statue of Zeus in classic Greek robes stood with a shield at his side and a lightning bolt raised, ready to smite somebody.

Jason studied the statue, looking for anything he had in common with the Lord of the Sky. Black hair? Nope. Grumbly expression? Well, maybe. Beard? No thanks. In his robes and sandals, Zeus looked like a really buff, really angry hippie.

Yeah, Cabin One. A big honor, the other campers had told him. Sure, if you liked sleeping in a cold temple by yourself with Hippie Zeus frowning down at you all night.

Jason got up and rubbed his neck. His whole body was stiff from bad sleep and summoning lightning. That little trick last night hadn't been as easy as he had let on. It had almost made him pass out.

Next to the cot, new clothes were laid out for him: jeans, sneakers, and an orange Camp Half-Blood shirt. He definitely needed a change of clothes, but looking down at his tattered purple shirt, he was reluctant to change. It felt wrong somehow, putting on the camp shirt. He still couldn't believe he belonged here, despite everything they'd told him.

He thought about his dream, hoping more memories would come back to him about Lupa, or that ruined house in the redwoods. He knew he'd been there before. The wolf was real. But his head ached when he tried to remember. The marks on his forearm seemed to burn.

If he could find those ruins, he could find his past. Whatever was growing inside that rock spire, Jason had to stop it.

He looked at Hippie Zeus. "You're welcome to help."

The statue said nothing.

"Thanks, Pops," Jason muttered.

He changed clothes and checked his reflection in Zeus's shield. His face looked watery and strange in the metal, like he was dissolving in a pool of gold. Definitely he didn't look as surprised as Annabeth had last night after the owl sent her her letter.

Jason still wasn't sure how he felt about that. He'd acted like an idiot, announcing in front of everyone that she was a knockout. Not like there'd been anything wrong with her _before_. Sure, she looked much more sophisticated after Athena messaged her, but she also didn't look like a teenager, not as carefree as when he first saw her on the bus.

Jason had felt bad for her. Jason felt like he understood that.

Last night when he'd called down lightning, the other campers' reactions had seemed familiar to him. He was pretty sure he'd been dealing with that for a long time—people looking at him in awe just because he was the son of Zeus, treating him special, but it didn't have anything to do with _him_. Nobody cared about _him_, just his big scary daddy standing behind him with the doomsday bolt, as if to say, _Respect this kid or eat voltage!_

After the campfire, when people started heading back to their cabins, Jason had gone up to Annabeth and formally asked her to come with him on the quest.

She'd still been in a state of shock, but she nodded, rubbing her arms, which must've been cold in a tee-shirt.

"Don't know where my jacket is?," she muttered. "Freezing."

In the first row of the amphitheater, Jason found a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. "We'll find the two of us new jackets," he promised.

She managed a smile. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, but he restrained himself. He didn't want her to think he was as shallow as everyone else—trying to make a move on her because she'd turned all beautiful.

He was glad Annabeth was going with him on the quest. Jason had tried to act brave at the campfire, but it was just that—an act. The idea of going up against an evil force powerful enough to kidnap Hera scared him witless, especially since he didn't even know his own past. He'd need help, and it felt right: Annabeth should be with him, she was smart. But things were already complicated without figuring out how much he liked her, and why. He'd already messed with her head enough.

He slipped on his new shoes, ready to get out of that cold, empty cabin. Then he spotted something he hadn't noticed the night before. A brazier had been moved out of one of the alcoves to create a sleeping niche, with a bedroll, a backpack, even some pictures taped to the wall.

Jason walked over. Whoever had slept there, it had been a long time ago. The bedroll smelled musty. The backpack was covered with a thin film of dust. Some of the photos once taped to the wall had lost their stickiness and fallen to the floor.

One picture showed Piper—much younger, maybe eight, but Jason could tell it was she: same brown hair and flashing eyes, same distracted look that caused her eyes to flash in different shades. She stood next to a sandy-haired guy about fourteen or fifteen, with a mischievous smile and ragged leather armor over a T-shirt. He was pointing to an alley behind them, like he was telling the photographer, _Let's go meet things in a dark alley and kill them!_ A second photo showed Piper and the same guy sitting at a campfire, laughing hysterically.

Finally Jason picked up one of the photos that had fallen. It was a strip of pictures like you'd take in a do-it-yourself photo booth: Piper and the sandy-haired guy, but with another girl between them. She was maybe fifteen, with black hair, a black leather jacket, and silver jewelry, so she looked kind of goth; but she was caught mid-laugh, and it was clear she was with her two best friends.

"That's Thalia," someone said.

Jason turned.

Piper was peering over his shoulder. Her expression was serious, like the picture bought back hard memories. "She's the other child of Zeus who lived here—but not for long. Sorry, I should've knocked."

"It's fine," Jason said. "Not like I think of this place as home."

Piper was dressed for travel, with a winter coat, that looked like an army jacket, over her camp shirt, her knife at her belt, and a backpack across her shoulders.

Jason said, "Don't suppose you've changed your mind about coming with us?"

She shook her head. "You got a good team already. I'm off to look for Percy."

Jason was a little disappointed. He would've appreciated having somebody on the trip who knew what they were doing, so he wouldn't feel like he was pushing Annabeth and Leo into the sea.

"Hey, you'll do fine," Piper promised. "I have a hunch this isn't your first quest."

Jason had a vague suspicion she was right, but that didn't make him feel any better. Everyone seemed to think he was so brave and confident, but they didn't see how lost he really felt. How could they trust him when he didn't even know who he was?

He looked at the pictures of Piper smiling. He wondered how long it had been since she'd smiled. She must really like this Percy guy to search for him so hard, and that made Jason a little envious. Was anyone searching for _him_ right now? What if somebody cared for _him_ that much and was going out of her mind with worry, and he couldn't even remember his old life?

"You know who I am," he guessed. "Don't you?"

Piper gripped the hilt of her dagger. She looked for a chair to sit on, but of course there weren't any. "Honestly, Jason … I'm not sure. My best guess, you're a loner. It happens sometimes. For one reason or another, the camp never found you, but you survived anyway by constantly moving around. Trained yourself to fight. Handled the monsters on your own. You beat the odds."

"The first thing Chiron said to me," Jason remembered, "was _you should be dead._"

"That could be why," Piper said. "Most demigods would never make it on their own. And a child of Zeus—I mean, it doesn't get any more dangerous than that. The chances of your reaching age fifteen without finding Camp Half-Blood or dying—like finding a needle in the Pacific. But like I said, it does happen. Thalia ran away when she was young. She survived on her own for years. Even took care of me for a while. So maybe you were a loner too."

Jason held out his arm. "And these marks?"

Piper glanced at the tattoos. Clearly, they bothered her. "Well, the eagle is the symbol of Zeus, so that makes sense. The twelve lines—maybe they stand for years, if you'd been making them since you were three years old. SPQR—that's the motto of the old Roman Empire: _Senatus Populusque Romanus_, the Senate and the People of Rome. Though why you would burn that on your own arm, I don't know. Unless you had a _really_ harsh history teacher …"

Jason was pretty sure that wasn't the reason. It also didn't seem possible he'd been on his own his whole life. But what else made sense? Annabeth had been pretty clear—Camp Half-Blood was the only safe place in the world for demigods.

"I, um … had a weird dream last night," he said. It seemed like a stupid thing to confide, but Piper didn't look surprised.

"Happens all the time to demigods," she said. "What did you see?"

He told her about the wolves and the ruined house and the two rock spires. As he talked, Piper started pacing, looking more and more agitated.

"You don't remember where this house is?" she asked.

Jason shook his head. "But I'm sure I've been there before."

"Redwoods," she mused. "Could be northern California. And the she-wolf … I've studied goddesses, spirits, and monsters my whole life. I've never heard of Lupa."

"She said the enemy was a 'her.' I thought maybe it was Hera, but—"

"I wouldn't trust Hera, but I don't think she's the enemy. And that thing rising out of the earth—" Piper expression darkened. "You've got to stop it."

"You know what it is, don't you?" he asked. "Or at least, you've got a guess. I saw your face last night at the campfire. You looked at Chiron like it was suddenly dawning on you, but you didn't want to scare us."

Piper hesitated. "Jason, the thing about prophecies …the more you know, the more you try to change them, and that can be disastrous. Chiron believes it's better that you find your own path, find out things in your own time. If he'd told me everything he knew before my first quest with Percy… I've got to admit, I'm not sure I would've been able to go through with it. For your quest, it's even more important."

"That bad, huh?"

"Not if you succeed. At least … I hope not."

"But I don't even know where to start. Where am I supposed to go?"

"Follow the monsters," Piper suggested.

Jason thought about that. The storm spirit who'd attacked him at the Grand Canyon had said he was being recalled to his boss. If Jason could track the storm spirits, he might be able to find the person controlling them. And maybe that would lead him to Hera's prison.

"Okay," he said. "How do I find storm winds?"

"Personally, I'd ask a wind god," Piper said. "Aeolus is the master of all the winds, but he's a little … unpredictable. No one finds him unless he wants to be found. I'd try one of the four seasonal wind gods that work for Aeolus. The nearest one, the one who has the most dealings with heroes, is Boreas, the North Wind."

"So if I looked him up on Google maps—"

"Oh, he's not hard to find," Piper promised. "He settled in North America like all the other gods. So of course he picked the oldest northern settlement, about as far north as you can go."

"Maine?" Jason guessed.

"Farther."

Jason tried to envision a map. What was farther north than Maine? The oldest northern settlement …

"Canada," he decided. "Quebec."

Piper smiled. "_Tu parlez français, Monseuir_."

'What?"

"Speak French, sir."

Jason actually felt a spark of excitement. Quebec—at least now he had a goal. Find the North Wind, track down the storm spirits, find out who they worked for and where that ruined house was. Free Hera. All in four days. Cake.

"Thanks, Piper." He looked at the photo booth pictures still in his hand. "So, um … you said it was dangerous being a child of Zeus. What ever happened to Thalia?"

"Oh, she's fine," Piper said. "She became a Hunter of Artemis—one of the handmaidens of the goddess. They roam around the country killing monsters. We don't see them at camp very often."

Jason glanced over at the huge statue of Zeus. He understood why Thalia had slept in this alcove. It was the only place in the cabin not in Hippie Zeus's line of sight. And even that hadn't been enough. She'd chosen to follow Artemis and be part of a group rather than stay in this cold drafty temple alone with her twenty-foot-tall dad—_Jason's dad_—glowering down at her. _Eat voltage!_ Jason didn't have any trouble understanding Thalia's feelings. He wondered if there was a Hunters group for guys.

"Who's the other kid in the photo?" he asked. "The sandy-haired guy."

Piper's expression tightened. Touchy subject.

"That's Luke," she said. "He's dead now."

Jason decided it was best not to ask more, but the way Piper said Luke's name, he wondered if maybe Percy Jackson wasn't the only boy Piper had ever liked.

He focused again on Thalia's face. He kept thinking this photo of her was important. He was missing something.

Jason felt a strange sense of connection to this other child of Zeus—someone who might understand his confusion, maybe even answer some questions. But another voice inside him, an insistent whisper, said: _Dangerous. Stay away._

"How old is she now?" he asked.

"Hard to say. She was a tree for a while. Now she's immortal."

"Pardon me?"

His expression must've been pretty good, because Piper laughed. "Don't worry. It's not something all children of Zeus go through. It's a long story, but … well, she was out of commission for a long time. If she'd aged regularly, she'd be in her twenties now, but she still looks the same as in that picture, like she's about … well, about your age. Fifteen or sixteen?"

Something the she-wolf had said in his dream nagged at Jason. He found himself asking, "What's her last name?"

Piper looked uneasy. "She didn't use a last name, really. If she had to, she'd use her mom's, but they didn't get along. Thalia ran away when she was pretty young."

Jason waited.

"Grace," Piper said. "Thalia Grace."

Jason's fingers went numb. The picture fluttered to the floor.

"You okay?" Piper asked.

A shred of memory had ignited—maybe a tiny piece that Hera had forgotten to steal. Or maybe she'd left it there on purpose—just enough for him to remember that name, and know that digging up his past was terribly, terribly dangerous.

_You should be dead,_ Chiron had said. It wasn't a comment about Jason beating the odds as a loner. Chiron knew something specific—something about Jason's family.

The she-wolf 's words in his dream finally made sense to him, her clever joke at his expense. He could imagine Lupa growling a wolfish laugh.

"What is it?" Piper pressed.

Jason couldn't keep this to himself. It would kill him, and he had to get Piper's help. If she knew Thalia, maybe she could advise him.

"You have to swear on the River Styx not to tell anyone else," he said.

"Jason—"

"Swear it," he urged. "Until I figure out what's going on, what this all means—" He rubbed the burned tattoos on his forearm. "You have to keep a secret."

Piper hesitated, but her curiosity won out. "All right. Until you tell me it's okay, I won't share what you say with anyone else. I swear on the River Styx."

Thunder rumbled, even louder than usual for the cabin. _You are our saving Grace,_ the wolf had snarled. Jason picked up the photo from the floor. "My last name is Grace," he said. "This is my sister." Piper paled. Jason could see her wrestling with dismay, disbelief, anger. She thought he was lying. His claim was impossible. And part of him felt the same way, but as soon as he spoke the words, he knew they were true.

Then the doors of the cabin burst open. Half a dozen campers spilled in, led by the bald guy from Iris, Butch. "Hurry!" he said, and Jason couldn't tell if his expression was excitement or fear. "The dragon is back."

**A/N: That's chapter fourteen, and here, we have Piper speaking French. Who will be their translator in Boreas's palace?**

**Reply to reviews:**

**Son of Dragon: Go check out my profile for the answer, thank you very much.**


	15. ANNABETH: XV

ANNABETH WOKE UP, HER HEAD FELT LIKE SHE WAS STEPPED BY AN ELEPHANT. Then she looked down, that's when she made the mistake, her blanket was two feet above her bed and was falling towards her and it hit her like a bowling ball.

"Woah!" She said in shock as the sheet hit the bed.

"Not everybody has telekinetic powers, right Mitchell?" Yelled Malcolm from the other side of the room.

"Sir, yes sir." mumbled Mitchell.

"That's right, now for you to know how this place works, recruit." Malcolm grabbed a scroll that looked ancient from one of the tables, he cleared his throat before he read.

"Here we welcome a new recruit while we introduce him/her to the rules. Let the rules of order that supported us for so long also be a reminder to other members of the community.

The head counselor's words are gold, thou shalt obey him. One rebuke, and thou shalt be sentenced to garbage patrol.

Thou art civilized, if thou shalt not clean up their own space, thou shalt have to check and restock the books, in Alphabetical Order according to author.

Thou shall not challenge the position of head, unless thou art finished more quests or more years than the current head at camp.

These are the three main rules, now it is the time for initiation, the IQ test."

Malcolm pushed Annabeth into a chair, and slammed a pencil into her hand. He put a stack of papers and a multiple choice answer sheet in front of her, "Do it."

She grumbled and started to read the questions.

_Question 1: What is the Pythagoras' Theorm._

That was easy, she quickly wrote _a^2+b^2=c^2_

And the other questions didn't actually prove to be a challenge, she just had to concentrate and be careful, not to let anything slip.

After twenty minutes, she finished the whole stack of 50 questions. And Malcolm looked at them then chucked it into a grading machine. "Let's see what score you get, mine was 190, highest of the whole bunch." He gloated with pride, of which Annabeth tried to stop snickering.

"Jeez pal, just read me my score."

"Here goes the score for the IQ test of Annabeth Seraphina Cato Chase is, drumroll please," Malcolm choked and fell to the ground, he began to breathe loudly.

"Read it, come on."

Mitchell picked up the paper, and in fine red print at the corner of the last sheet were the words, "The score that this person received is, according to the formula, an Intelligent Quotient of, woah," he coughed and continued, his tone rising higher and higher, and more excited, "210"

Malcolm got up and shouted to the room, "You see right? It's better if the number wasn't announced, guys?"

The others smirked. It felt good, there was somebody smarter than Malcolm. "Michell, you also remember what you did yesterday, right? Go clean the room."

Michell groaned as he slipped on a pair of medical gloves, and crawled down to look for trash., "Anyway, I need to have my shower, and I expect all of you to be done when I finish." Malcolm went inside and Annabeth heard a yelp, then a girl was thrown out still with some shampoo in her hair while some other cabinmates tried to comfort her.

Annabeth was just cold and hearless enough to ignore that while look for things to pack for the quest. Then suddenly, a friendly voice spoke up, "Hey, it's Mitchell, though I think you alr. But, well, I have to say, meet Lacy."

He turned to a girl much younger than himself, probably around thirteen, and she gave Annabeth a backpack, "What you need for a quest. There are ambrosia squares, a bottle of nectar, and another bottle of water, some extra clothes, and most of all, lots of drachmas for iris messages, and water mist spray."

"You need to conjure up a rainbow, then throw the coin into the mist, saying Iris, Goddess of the Rainbows, accept my offering, let me see insert name here." Mitchell made air quotes, "Good luck. Also, you look familiar." Mitchell pointed to a poster, that said Frederich Chase and the Science of the Future, a TV show by the National Geographic channel.

"One in a million, for him to be related to me is like finding a needle in the Pacific Ocean." Annabeth thanked the two wholeheartedly and walked out of the cabin, for an early breakfast. But she didn't expect Leo to appear on a bronze dragon, right after the meal.

**A/N: Sorry for this being so short, the next chapter will be up soon, but there's my exams coming up, so things shall slow down until around June 20. Anyway, if you have nothing to review, I appreciate 'Happy Birthdays', go check the date on my profile.**


	16. ANNABETH: XVI

"LEO?!" SHE YELLED.

Sure enough, there he was, sitting atop a giant bronze death machine and grinning like a lunatic. Even before he landed, the camp alarm went up. A conch horn blew. All the satyrs started screaming, "Don't kill me!" Half the camp ran outside in a mixture of pajamas and armor. The dragon set down right in the middle of the green, and Leo yelled, "It's cool! Don't shoot!"

Hesitantly, the archers lowered their bows. The warriors backed away, keeping their spears and swords ready. They made a loose wide ring around the metal monster. Other demigods hid behind their cabin doors or peeped out the windows. Nobody seemed anxious to get close.

Annabeth couldn't blame them. The dragon was huge and ferocious. It glistened in the morning sun like a living penny sculpture —fifty shades of copper and bronze—a sixty-foot-long serpent with steel talons and drill-bit teeth and glowing ruby eyes. It had bat-shaped wings twice its length that unfurled like metallic sails, making a sound like coins cascading out of a slot machine every time they flapped.

"It's a work of art," Annabeth muttered. The other demigods stared at her like she was insane.

The dragon reared its head and shot a column of fire into the sky. Campers scrambled away and hefted their weapons, but Leo slid calmly off the dragon's back. He held up his hands like he was surrendering, except he still had that crazy grin on his face.

"Earthlings, I come in peace!" he shouted. He looked like he'd been rolling around in the campfire. His army coat and his face were smeared with soot. His hands were grease-stained, and he wore a new tool belt around his waist. His eyes were bloodshot. His curly hair was so oily it stuck up in porcupine quills, and he smelled strangely of Tabasco sauce. But he looked absolutely delighted. "Festus is just saying hello!"

"That thing is dangerous!" an Ares girl shouted, brandishing her spear. "Kill it now!"

"Stand down!" someone ordered.

To Annabeth's surprise, it was Jason. He pushed through the crowd, flanked by Piper and that girl from the Hephaestus cabin, Nyssa.

Jason gazed up at the dragon and shook his head in amazement. "Leo, what have you done?"

"Found us a ride!" Leo beamed. "You said I could go on the quest if I got you a ride. Well, I got you a first class metallic flying bad boy! Festus can take us anywhere!"

"It—has wings," Nyssa stammered. Her jaw looked like it might drop off her face.

"Yeah!" Leo said. "I found them and reattached them."

"But it never had wings. Where did you find them?"

Leo hesitated, and Annabeth could tell he was hiding something.

"In … the woods," he said. "Repaired his circuits, too, mostly, so no more problems with him going haywire."

"Mostly?" Nyssa asked.

The dragon's head twitched. It tilted to one side and a stream of black liquid—maybe oil, _hopefully_ just oil—poured out of its ear, all over Leo.

"Just a few kinks to work out," Leo said.

"But how did you survive … ?" Nyssa was still staring at the creature in awe. "I mean, the fire breath …"

"I'm quick," Leo said. "And lucky. Now, am I on this quest, or what?"

Jason scratched his head. "You named him Festus? You know that in Latin, 'festus' means 'happy'? You want us to ride off to save the world on Happy the Dragon?"

The dragon twitched and shuddered and flapped his wings.

"That's a yes, bro!" Leo said. "Now, um, I'd really suggest we get going, guys. I already picked up some supplies in the—um, in the woods. And all these people with weapons are making Festus nervous."

Jason frowned. "But we haven't planned anything yet. We can't just—"

"Go," Piper said. She was the only one who didn't look nervous at all. Her expression was sad and wistful, like this reminded her of better times. "Jason, you've only got three days until the solstice now, and you should never keep a nervous dragon waiting. This is certainly a good omen. Go!"

Jason nodded. Then he smiled at Annabeth. "You ready, partner?"

Annabeth looked at the bronze dragon wings shining against the sky, and those talons that could've shredded her to pieces.

"_Semper paratus_, always ready," she said.

Flying on the dragon was the most amazing experience ever, Annabeth thought.

Up high, the air was freezing cold; but the dragon's metal hide generated so much heat, it was like they were flying in a protective bubble. Talk about seat warmers! The air should be really thin, but it seemed as if somebody was manipulating it and they were surrounded by a thick blanket just as thick as the air below. And the grooves in the dragon's back were designed like high-tech plane seats, so they weren't uncomfortable at all. Leo showed them how to hook their feet in the chinks of the armor, like in stirrups, and the leather safety harnesses cleverly concealed under the exterior plating acted as seatbelts. They sat in two rows: Leo in front as pilot, then Annabeth and Jason side by side behind him, and Annabeth was very aware of Jason right beside her.

Leo used the reins to steer the dragon into the sky like he'd been doing it all his life. The metal wings worked perfectly, and soon the coast of Long Island was just a hazy line behind them. They shot over Connecticut and climbed into the gray winter clouds.

Leo grinned back at them. "Cool, right?"

"What if we get spotted?" Leo asked.

"The Mist," Annabeth said. "It keeps mortals from seeing magic things. If they spot us, they'll probably mistake us for a small plane or something."

Leo glanced over his shoulder. "You sure about that?"

"Not really," said Jason. Then Annabeth saw he was clutching a photo in his hand—a picture of a girl with dark hair.

She gave Jason a quizzical look, but he blushed and put the photo in his pocket. "We're making good time. Probably get there by tonight."

Annabeth wondered who the girl in the picture was, but she didn't want to ask; and if Jason didn't volunteer the information, that wasn't a good sign. Had he remembered something about his life before? Was that a photo of his past, their past?

She asked a safer question. "Where are we heading?"

"To find the god of the North Wind," Jason said. "And to be stormchasers."

**A/N: There you go, chapter 16. Also, you might know a Harry Potter fan is called a Potterhead, and a Doctor Who fan is a Whovian, and now I say, a Percy Jackson (and HoO) fan is a Jacksonite. I accept all kinds of criticism. The next chapter will be coming soon, I hope.**


End file.
